Clear as a Bell
by NotTasha
Summary: A gunfight, dynamite, a building falls on Ezra...and that's just the start of it, because the poor man is now deaf.
1. Section 1

**CLEAR AS A BELL _(v3)_**  
_By NotTasha -- clearly _

_NOTES: Okay, there's something you should know. When I originally conceived of "Clear as a Bell", back in February 2000, I had several scenes that I was determined to put into the story... but I wrote the sucker far too quickly and the story took off on its own direction and I didn't find room for everything that I wanted to do. It's always bothered me that I never did include those scenes 'cause I always thought they were whiz-bang and deserved to be written. Well, since I couldn't think of anything new to write... I revised this story... inserting those missing scenes. The story is essentially the same, just cleaved down the middle, split from gullet to groin, new organs have been inserted, and the patient has been stitch back together. A little plastic surgery took place at the same time... since the patient was already under the knife, I figured I'd take advantage of the situation. This was the third M7 story I had written. Oh, and this is now labeled (v3) because there was an earlier revision some time ago. I thought I'd better fess up. v2 included just one new scene. v3 doubled its length._

_So here you are... the new and perhaps improved... "Clear as a Bell"_

**Part 1: **

Ezra stood at the entrance to the corral and waited. The report of a gun sounded from the street. Another shot followed the first, answered by a volley that seemed to erupt from five or six different places at once. He couldn't see any of the action, stationed as he was behind the empty mercantile, near the little corral that bordered the saddle-shop. The small herd of horses contained there snorted and stamped their feet.

Another shot was fired. Standish shifted and drew his Colt Richards Conversion from his shoulder harness, holding it stiffly at his side -- ready.

The gunfire was growing closer. The action was obviously moving down the street, only a few buildings from him now. He resisted the powerful urge to follow the noise and assist his companions. No, he held his location, knowing that he was going to be the last defense. The McHale brothers were not going to get past him to claim their stolen horses.

The shooting continued and he frowned, wondering what was going on, hoping that everyone was safe. He could make out Chris shouting, and Buck replying. Vin must still be near the assayer's office; Ezra could hear him firing his mare's leg at something in the street. JD yelled to Josiah, then Nathan shouted a warning to Buck and there was more gunfire.

Then, he heard pounding footfalls coming toward him. He turned to see Johnny McHale appear for a moment outside the backdoor of the mercantile. The young man made a move toward the corral, saw him, and swore loudly. The outlaw hastily ducked back inside.

Ezra squared his shoulders and took off after him. His appointed post would have to go unwatched; he couldn't let Johnny get the drop on the others. He paused outside the building for only a moment, and entered, his gun ready. The immediate dimness confounded him for a moment. Light streamed in through the half-boarded windows of the vacant building, illuminating a swirling curtain of dust motes. A single figure was silhouetted in the doorway.

Ezra leveled his weapon at the form and said distinctly, "You'd best take advantage of my good nature, Mr. McHale, and lay down your weapon now."

Johnny, a man of about twenty-two years, didn't move immediately. He looked out the doorway as if he wanted to be someplace else and then gazed back at the regulator who held him under the gun. When the boy met his gaze, Ezra frowned, keeping his aim steady on the outlaw. The eyes that gazed back at him held a strange mirth in them.

"Hi there, law-man!" Johnny called. "You gonna arrest me now?"

"Lay down your weapon," Ezra repeated, "and I shall. Do otherwise and you'll discover that the law can be severe."

Suddenly the young man started laughing. "Severe?" he cried. Great peals of laughter escaped the lad and he bent over in an almost hysterical glee. He clutched at his stomach as his hilarity echoed in the empty room. Johnny McHale seemed to have lost his senses.

"What's so funny, Mr. McHale?" Ezra drawled, "Perhaps you can fill me in?"

Johnny shook his head and continued with his fit. Underneath the man's laughter, Ezra became aware of a hissing sound -- strange. But at this moment, it was the least of his worries. He kept the weapon trained on the hysterical young man and he tried to decide what to do with him.

"If you would be so kind, Mr. McHale," Ezra said, flicking his gun at the man. He was well aware that he should be back at the corral. He had one man under his gun now, but he had left those horses available to the other two. "Perhaps we should adjourn to the jailhouse where we might meet up with your brothers?"

Suddenly the young man drew his weapon. With a curse, Ezra fired. It was at that exact moment that a realization hit Ezra like a ton of bricks. The hissing, the inconsequential hissing, was a burning fuse. He watched the young man reel toward the front door, and without waiting for him to fall, Ezra dove toward the rear exit.

He never made it.

The whole building exploded around him.

He was flying. Ezra had the sensation of being carried up with the sound, and then, the incredible, ear-splitting noise seemed to throw him downward.

He fell and everything went silent.

**Part 2:**

The explosion rocked the town.

"Son of bitch!" Buck yelled, ducking his head and flinging Tom McHale to the ground in front of him. Wilmington threw his arms up over his head as the debris fell about him and the church bell clanged in its tower.

McHale tried to scuttle to his feet but Buck threw himself bodily on top of the young man and kept him on the ground. "Keep still, ya idiot," Wilmington ordered, keeping one hand on the young man as he stood and looked about.

Chris and Josiah had Will McHale in their clutches and were dragging him along as they looked up the street, toward where the explosion had sounded. "What the hell?" Larabee uttered, shoving Will down beside his brother.

Vin, Nathan and JD ran past them, toward what was left of the old mercantile. Chris nodded to Josiah and Buck. "Get these bastards locked up. We still got one to go."

"Ah, Chris," Buck said with a nod and then a glare at the brothers. "Johnny is the one that likes to mess with dynamite."

Chris shook his head sharply and headed after the other three lawmen.

"Keep a sharp eye out," Josiah urged as he dragged Will to his feet again. "I hear their younger brother is not the most level headed of the bunch."

"Thanks," Chris muttered over his shoulder and quickened his pace. He looked in disbelief at what was left of the mercantile. The building was absolutely disintegrated. Dazed townspeople stood in the street. Shattered windows faced the empty lot. The people hardly seemed to notice Larabee's passing. Trance-like, they couldn't divert their gaze from the razed building.

Chris' eyes quickly fastened on Nathan, squatting in the street beside a body. Vin and JD stood beside him, looking at the destruction. Larabee sucked in his breath as came alongside them. "Nate?"

"Johnny McHale," Nathan said with a nod. "Been shot dead."

"Who shot 'im? One of you?" Chris demanded. They shrugged and looked to each other. Larabee changed his gaze to Josiah and Buck who were leading the other two boys to the jail. They had been too far away to perform the deed. Chris turned his head sharply to the corral where Ezra should have been stationed, the corral that shouldn't have been visible from the street, except for the missing building. The horses were careening about the corral in abject terror, but there was no sign of the gambler.

"Ezra!" Chris shouted, moving toward the corral. He felt a panic rise in him. "Ezra?"

"Chris," Nathan said, looking up from the body, his voice unsteady. "Whoever shot 'im musta done it from that direction," he said pointing at the wrecked building. Chris set his jaw and continued his way toward the corral.

"Chris," JD called, following the gunslinger. "You don't think he was in there when it happened?"

Chris turned his gaze from the corral to the pile of shattered wood. _No!_ he thought… _he couldn't be._ His gaze darted from the fallen-down building to the shattered windows that faced it. "Damn it to hell," he muttered.

JD looked devastated. "But, couldn't 'ave been…"

"JD," Chris said firmly, "See if you can find him."

"What?"

"Check the saloons, his room, the livery… anywhere," Chris ordered.

Vin nodded. "Maybe he just got tired o' waitin'."

Chris jerked his head at JD. "Go on!" JD paused and then trotted off toward the nearest saloon.

Nathan sighed. "I hope to God that you're right, Chris."

Chris looked toward Buck and Josiah who had reached the jail. Jackson spoke, "Maybe he saw a mark and went off after 'im."

Chris dusted his hands on his pants and said, "Maybe." He gazing upon the tumbled mess that was left of the mercantile and wondered how could anyone have survived that?

"Ezra," Jackson muttered quietly. He bent down to lift a long board that rested on top of the tangled pile.

Vin stepped forward to help him. "He's okay," the tracker said to no one in particular.

**Part 3:**

Ezra wasn't sure how long he was out. His first sensation was a ringing sound, like the tone after a bell was rung, but it rolled on and on. Why were they ringing the church bell? He tried to take a deep breath, but couldn't. The air was filled with dust, and he didn't seem able to fill his lungs. He coughed, struggling to draw in enough air to make it worthwhile. He struggled to move, but found himself completely pinned at the chest. It was if a giant had placed its thumb on his sternum and said, "You stay there, Ezra Standish."

He opened his eyes and stared into near darkness. Small shafts of light illuminated the falling dust. He watched the dance of the motes for moment, mesmerized. Blinking, he tried to clear his head.

This would never do. He craned his neck to see what was above him, but was rewarded with an eye-full of dust. Wood and debris surrounded him. He was on his back, but something was under his head and shoulders, keeping him somewhat propped up. By leaning his head forward he was able to figure out what was on his chest, a beam that must have come out of the rafters of the building. His left hand was trapped between his chest and the beam, and his right was somewhere beside him. He tried to move the right hand out of its position, but it was tightly pinned in place. His left hand was totally incapacitated. He could feel it, along with his shoulder holster and every button of his jacket, pressed into his chest, but didn't seem to have any feeling in the hand itself. His breath quickened with fear.

"Not my hands, please, not my hands," he said aloud. Or at least he thought it was out loud.

"Hello," he tried softly, and coughed again. "Hello?" He couldn't hear his voice above the ringing of that bell. Why were they ringing the church bell?

"Don't let your emotions get the better of you, Ezra," he said to himself. He said the words slowly and distinctly, but heard nothing. "Ah hell," he muttered. The words never met his ears. He couldn't hear a thing...not a thing.

Pinned, unable to move or even hear, he was in a hell of a place. How was he about to extricate himself?

"Hello, anyone?" he shouted. He paused, waiting for a response and then realized the ridiculousness of that action. Unable to even hear is own voice, how was he about to hear anyone else?

"I'm here!" He tried to gulp down the required air to put power behind the call, but he was unable to inflate his lungs enough, and the attempt only brought a further bout of unproductive coughs. He couldn't tell how loud he had shouted. This was no good, no good at all.

He looked upward again, but the falling dust made it impossible to see anything. He was stuck, hopelessly stuck, and nobody knew where he was. He was supposed to be by the entrance to the corral. What would they think when they couldn't find him? Would they think he had run off on them again? Good Lord. His heart quickened again at that thought.

Did the remaining McHales get past? Nobody was on guard at the corral and they would have gotten to the horses. What if the other six thought the McHales had captured him? They would go after the criminals to try and free him. He hoped they didn't come to that conclusion. It could get them killed. It would be better if they thought he'd run out.

Long minutes passed as he listened to the ringing that never seemed to lessen. What could he do? He decided to take inventory. He could move his right hand, but not his arm. He hoped that meant that the rest of the arm was in one piece. He tried his left hand next, but it was trapped too tightly to be sure. He could flex the muscles in the hand at least, even if he couldn't get any movement.

He breathed in and out slowly, a task that seemed to be getting harder. He didn't know if it was because the beam was settling or that he was getting tired. There was no pain in this action. His ribs were, for the time being at least, intact. He rolled his neck from one side to the other. His head was in one piece.

Next, he tried his feet, and was pleased to find that his right foot was free. He could move it fairly easily in a small area, so at least part of his body had mobility. Something was holding his left foot down and he tried to move the offending barrier with his right foot. He worked slowly and patiently to get the toe of his boot under the edge of the object, and flip it out of the way. The action was more trouble that good though, as it brought down something large that effectively trapped both feet. "Intelligent move, Ezra," he muttered.

He decided to keep still for a time, perhaps regain some energy and try again in while. He would have to get himself out of here in one way or another and he needed to regain his strength.

**Part 4:**

Buck and Josiah quickly settled the two outlaws in their cells. Jed Green, who ran the little shop next-door, quickly volunteered to keep an eye on the prisoners while Sanchez and Wilmington joined the others. His mother-in-law was in town, poking her nose into the store business, so Jed was eager to find a way to escape her scrutiny. They noticed JD running from one saloon to the next. Buck called to him, but the young man was intent on his task. The two quickly joined the others, noting their grim manner immediately.

"Brothers?" Josiah questioned.

"Where's Ezra?" Buck input, noting the missing team member.

The other four men didn't offer a reply, but only glanced to the newcomers. There was no need to say anything.

"Fuck!" Buck muttered and stepped in to help.

The preacher paused long enough to utter a short prayer before he moved in to aid in disassembling the pile.

They removed the remains of the building as quickly as they could manage, calling as they went. From time to time, Chris would silence them and the men would stand listening, hoping to hear a reply, wishing to hear some sort of response, but they heard nothing.

Other townspeople joined in, and the pile slowly diminished. Johnny McHale had been found near the front of the building, so they worked on that half of the pile first. They had excavated half of the building down to the dirt floor of the basement before JD returned, looking frantic.

"I looked everywhere," the young man said. "He's not in any of the saloons, not in his room, the restaurant, none of the stores. I checked the clinic thinkin' maybe he got hurt, but he wasn't there either," the sheriff kicked a discarded plank. "Chaucer's still in his stall." JD grimaced, thinking that maybe if he had looked hard enough, he would have been able to find the gambler safe and sound.

"Ya did a good job, JD," Chris said encouragingly.

Buck added, "We can use a hand here now. Step on in."

Dunne nodded and jumped down into the pit beside the ladies' man to help him with the task of emptying the debris into the street. "Couldn't find him," Dunne muttered.

"We will," Josiah assured. Although he did believe they'd find the gambler, he was becoming worried about exactly what state the man would be in upon discovery. _Lord, let him be all right._ The preacher pulled back a large sheet of wood and revealed a familiar yet flattened shape -- a black hat. He exhaled slowly as he picked it up. He fixed the squashed crown and tried to pat off some of the dust before he handed it to Chris.

Chris held the low-crown Stetson for a moment, feeling its weight in his hand, and realizing what its discovery meant. There was no doubt now. Ezra was somewhere in this mess. _Why the hell did you have to go in there, Ezra? Damn it, Standish, you can't be dead!_ He set the hat down on a board that lay on the basement floor, careful to keep it off the dirt.

They continued their work with a more frantic pace. JD gasped when he made his discovery. He held up the gun that usually resided in Ezra's shoulder harness. "Maybe he dropped it?" JD tried.

Chris retrieved it from him and set it alongside the hat. "Maybe," he responded. _Maybe he's safe and sound somewhere and not blown to bits by a two-bit horse-thief. Maybe he ain't hurt at all and we'll find him without a scratch on him. Maybe nothin's wrong at all. _

"He's okay," Vin said again, echoing Chris' thoughts. He stood near the top of the remaining pile, trying to decide where to next attack the wreck. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouted, "Ezra? Come on, Ez! Say somethin'." He bit his lip, waiting for a response. "He's gotta be okay."

The tracker shifted a plank and tossed it out of the pit and onto the growing pile in the street. Beneath him yawned an open cavity. He looked into the dimly lit space and sucked in his breath when he saw a head of chestnut hair.

**Part 5:**

Ezra started to see flashes of light. He had been trying to wiggle his way out from under the heavy beam, without any luck whatsoever. His ribs were starting to ache at the abuse, making his breathing more difficult. He stopped, knowing that it would do him no good at all if he were to pass out. He closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing and that strange ringing. With any luck, the pointless ringing would stop soon.

He hadn't yet figured out how he was going to escape. Somehow he would need to get free of this beam. If he could only do that, he could work his way out of here, couldn't he?

He didn't need his hearing to get out… but his hands. Lord, he needed his hands. He flexed his right hand to ensure that he could still move it. His left seemed to be even more disconnected. God, he had to get out of here… had to free his hand from that weight.

He was so tired. The urge to fall asleep tugged at him.

He fought to keep his eyes open.

**Part 6:**

"Ezra!" Vin shouted, "It's okay, we've found you!" The head didn't move. Vin's heart sank, seeing the size of the beam that trapped the southerner. _Oh God, no, _he thought. _No, no!_ Ezra was so totally still; Vin couldn't even see if he was breathing.

He lay down over the hole and reached, his hand just missing the head beneath him.

"Oh, please. Jus' let me get 'im," he muttered, not even realizing that the others were beside him. He extended his arm just a little further and caught the very top of Ezra's head. He was surprised to feel the head move away from him. He glanced down. Yes, the head had moved. Vin smiled.

"Hey, Ez," he called, gazing down his arm. The head continued to move away from him and the tracker chased it as best he could, finally snagging his fingernails into the hair. "Come on, Ez. It's me, Vin. Tell me you're okay," the tracker pleaded, finally being rewarded by Ezra tipping his head. Vin grinned when he saw Ezra's green eyes glinting up at him.

Ezra said something softly, but Vin couldn't quite catch it.

"Quiet!" Tanner yelled, aware that Chris and Nathan were both trying to push him aside, talking loudly, asking him questions. He ignored them. "Ez? What'd ya say, Ez?" The tracker still wasn't able to understand him, and he was pulled off the hole before he could try again.

"Ezra!" Nathan yelled, looking down at the trapped con man. His mind raced, seeing the beam and noting how Standish was pinned, cataloging a list of possible injuries. "Are you all right?" He had to turn and tell the others to be quiet. Why was everyone talking at once? Ezra was saying something, but he couldn't hear him. It seemed that he was having trouble breathing.

Nathan stepped back from the hole and declared, "We gotta get him out of there, now!"

JD stepped to the opening as the others started working at an increased speed. "Hey-ya, Ezra," JD shouted down. He could just barely make out Ezra's head in the dimness. The young man gasped when he saw the beam. "Oh my God," he muttered, causing Buck to jump forward and jerk him aside. Dunne touched his own chest in empathy.

"Damn!" Buck swore, looking downward. "Hey, Ez, you doin' okay? Huh?" He tried to keep the worry out of his voice. "You don't look too comfortable, huh? We'll getcha out in a minute, no problem. Just you hang in there, okay?" He watched as Ezra turned his head slowly away without responding to him, until Buck could no longer see his face.

"No, no, no, Ezra! Come on, look up here!" Buck demanded, as he started throwing the nearest boards aside. "Ezra, answer me. Come on, answer me!"

Nathan was at the hole again. "What happened?"

"He just stopped lookin' up," Buck said worriedly. "Ez, say somethin'!"

"Ezra, look up here!" Nathan ordered. "Ezra!" There was no sign that Ezra had heard him. "Damn it!" he looked to the others. "I think he's unconscious."

Chris grunted as he threw another board aside. "Is he gonna be alright?"

"Dunno," Nathan mumbled. "Let's just get to him."

**Part 7:**

At first he had thought that a board had fallen on his head and nothing he did would dislodge it. Ezra couldn't believe how happy he had been to look up and see that mangy tracker's face appear above him. He watched as faces appeared and disappeared, but it was so hard to keep his head turned in that direction. He finally had to face forward again.

He had tried to explain to them that he was all right and he had hoped they understood. They looked damned worried, but he couldn't share that particular emotion. No, he was rather elated to see his deliverance at hand.

When he looked up again, he saw the hole was significantly opened and Chris was over him. Larabee looked as if he said something, reaching through the hole and grasping his shoulder. But the words were lost and Ezra felt surprisingly weary as he straightened his neck again. Larabee didn't remove his hand, and Ezra felt rather comforted by that simple weight.

Jackson's sudden appearance startled him, as the healer leaped down beside him. An unheard word or two was spoken and he started taking his pulse, feeling his head and any other part of him that was exposed. More words were spoken and it was obvious that Jackson was expecting a response. It was so strange to see his mouth move and be unable to hear the words.

"I assure you ...that I am well... Mr. Jackson," Ezra said, at what he hoped was a reasonable tone. It was impossible to tell. "But if you ...would be so kind... as to free my arm...I'd be... indebted."

Nathan pulled back on the board that trapped Ezra's right arm, and he was finally able to move it. Jackson helped ease it out of its cramped position and Ezra held the hand before his eyes and flexed it. It didn't seem to be broken, thank goodness. Now he'd have to see about the left. What good would he be if his hands were damaged? He wouldn't be able to handle a deck of cards or a gun. He was as adept at using the left as the right. Without both them, he would be worthless.

He could see that the others were working at uncovering his legs and suddenly that vexing board had been removed from his feet. He was feeling better now. With so much of the debris gone, he could now see that he was in the basement of the mercantile, and he could see the full size of the beam. It was massive, running across the entire length of the ruined building. One splintered block of wood held it up high enough to leave a tiny space for him. If it hadn't been for that block, he would have been crushed to a colorful paste.

He watched as Josiah, Vin and Chris tried to lift one end of the beam. They strained at the task. For a few seconds it was easier to breath, but the three ended up setting the board back where it was. Nathan patted him on the shoulder and apparently said something. JD arrived with an armload of boards and the lifting process was tried again. He watched as JD shoved a piece of wood between the block and the beam, and the beam was raised an inch. Again, he could breath and he could finally move his hand. Another board and he could pull his hand free. Another board, and Nathan and Buck gently pulled him out from under the wretched beam.

Nathan was checking him out, talking the whole time, pulling open his shirt, feeling his ribs, looking for broken bones, waving fingers in front of his eyes.

"As I have already assured you, Mr. Jackson, I'm quite well." Ezra held his numbed left hand in front of him and flexed it slowly. It was white from the lack of circulation, but he was least able to move it. He let Nathan feel for any broken bones and the healer seemed to be satisfied that there weren't any.

Using Nathan's shoulder for help, Ezra was able to stand, somewhat shakily. He looked at the others as he took a moment to gain his balance. He was aware that they'd been talking to him. "I haven't been ignoring you gentlemen," he said. "I'm simply enjoying the wonders of being able to move again. I thank you most humbly for extricating me from this difficult situation."

He found his Remington and derringer were still holstered. He looked about and saw his Colt and his hat resting on a nearby board. He holstered the gun and took a moment to dust off the hat and attempt to reshape it. Lord, it would have to be blocked again before it was acceptable. He placed it on his head, somewhat dubiously, aware that it wasn't up to his usual level of perfection.

After he turned, he discovered the beam that had been balanced on the block and boards was now on the ground. How had that happened? He shuddered, glad that he wasn't under it at the time.

Now, to get out! He could see that the only way was to climb up the rubble that had recently entombed him. Before anyone could stop him, he did exactly that and made his way to the surface. He stepped out of the wretched basement and straightened his clothing before striding away.

As he headed toward his room as he hopelessly patted his clothes, raising a cloud of dust. He would have to give the laundry woman an extravagant tip this week, he thought.

Something grabbed him, startling him to a stop. He dropped his hand to his gun and tried to spin out of the grip, finally noticing Chris hanging on his arm. Larabee spoke, his brow furrowed.

"Mr. Larabee, I'm fine, as I've stated before. All I want at this moment is to take a hot bath and to change into something presentable." He tugged his filthy jacket. "This isn't fit to be seen in."

Chris leaned closer to him, and Ezra realized that he had been probably speaking too softly. He would be damned if he would raise his voice pointlessly. Chris spoke again.

Ezra raised his hand to stop him. "Please, a bath and a change of clothing." And he turned back to his room. He hoped no one would stop him, and this time no one did.

**Part 8:**

"Damn!" Buck muttered, watching Standish strut unsteadily toward the saloon and his room. "Never would 'ave believed it if I didn't see it with my own eyes."

Nathan shook his head wonder. "He had hardly have a scratch on him."

"Luck of the devil," Buck said with a grin. "He had the all of us worried. Meanwhile he was just relaxing in there while all of us sweated, tryin' to get him out. Didn't say a word while we were callin' for him!"

"Course, he had a whole buildin' on him, Buck," JD said with a laugh. "Might be reason enough to take it easy."

"Think he's okay, Nathan?" Josiah asked.

Nathan shrugged. "A bit bruised and scraped. Didn't seem to 'ave broke nothin'. Hell, you saw him get up. I'll get a look at him later, but he was pretty set on gettin' himself cleaned up." He chuckled. "He'll be easier to manage if he ain't so agitated and there's one sure fire way to agitate Ezra and that's to get him dirty."

Chris shook his head in relief and ran his hand across his forehead. He was sweating from the exertion and the stress that the last hour had placed on him. But, all in all, he felt pretty good. Standish was alive…not only that, he appeared to be perfectly fine. "Damn lucky!"

Vin watched silently, suspiciously, as Ezra entered the saloon that formed the doorstep to his room.

**Part 9:**

The manager of the bathhouse, Mr. Breen, gave him no trouble. Ezra was fairly good at reading lips, as long as he could clearly see the speaker and the words made some sense. It was a necessary talent of his trade. Breen was always easy to read.

Ezra settled himself into a tub of hot water and tried to soak away the trouble. He was sore all over. He could find a hand shaped welt in his chest, and strange little round pits left by the buttons. He was glad that his Colt Richards Conversion wasn't holstered at the time. Indeed, that would have left a mark. He was bruised, scraped, but otherwise fine. He moved his left hand slowly in the water, feeling a definite tingling sensation. At least his hands were okay. His ears were another story.

He slid back into the bath and let his head partially submerge, letting his ears drop below the surface. Maybe they were just filled with dust, maybe the hot water would help. It was strange to feel the water rush into his ear canals but not hear it, only the sound of the bell that rang on unmuffled despite the water. He sat up again and let the water run out, but that ringing continued and he could hear nothing else.

He sighed and tried it again, but the results were unchanged. What was he going to do? It was going to be very difficult getting along without anyone wising up to his situation. He didn't intend on tipping his bum hand to anyone at this moment. It never did any good to let someone know of a weakness. This was a fact that he had lived with all of his life, something he had learned from childhood. Give someone a means to exploit you -- and they will. He stayed in the bath until the water cooled, and then returned to his room.

It took him longer than usual to dress. His numb hand made him awkward and he found he had to rely mostly on his right. He flexed the left hand constantly to try and draw the feeling fully back into it.

He was impressed by his revitalized appearance when he looked at himself in his mirror. Refreshed by the bath and new clothing, he didn't look as if he had been nearly crushed an hour earlier. He didn't look as if he couldn't hear. He smiled at his image, hoping that he could carry this off. The ringing was so loud he wondered if anyone else could hear it, as if **_he_** was the bell that had been struck and was resounding still. He smirked at the thought. What he really needed at this moment was a drink.

In the saloon, he found the other six around their usual table. They hadn't noticed him at the top of the stairs and he took a moment to observe them as he descended. Their mouths moved soundlessly as they talked and joked. Buck was rocking backward, his mouth open and Josiah was leaning forward on the table, apparently leading the discussion.

With a sigh, Ezra realized that he didn't have a chance. He was too tired and too sore to put up a front. He'd be better off back in his room. He went to the bar for a bottle of bourbon. Rutledge, at the bar, knew what was wanted and brought it without being told. He brought the appropriate bottle and a clean glass. Standish nodded his thanks, setting the necessary amount on the bar with his regular tip and then turned to go. If he just slept on it, he was sure his ears would have recovered by the morning.

Hands grasped him before he made it the stairs at the back of the bar. He resisted the urge to fight his way out of their grip as Buck and JD stepped in front of him. They half-dragged him to the table. Both seemed pleased to see him, eagerly talking about something. Their mouths opened and closed rapidly. Ezra silently took his seat and filled his glass. He tossed back the drink and pour another. He glanced up to see everyone looking at him. They all seemed to be talking at once. "Gentlemen, I've had a rather trying day. You'll excuse me if I'm not up to a scintillating conversation."

He sipped at his drink and tried to ignore them. That ringing bell was getting rather annoying. It was too dim in the saloon to see the others well enough to read their lips. Besides, he really didn't feel up to it at that moment. He looked up to see Josiah talking to him. It looked as if he had said, "How's the head?"

"My head's fine." Ezra replied, not mentioning the fact that the constantly ringing bell was giving him a headache. Nathan turned toward him and said something that Ezra couldn't catch.

Ezra sighed and said with a certain amount of rancor, "I'm quite fine. I believe I've stated that before." Then they were all talking to him at once. He thought he saw JD say, "My horse just had puppies," and he knew this was just not going to work tonight. He was too muddle-headed. The ringing was too loud. He was too damn sore and tired. He picked up the bottle and stated, "I believe I shall make an early evening of this. Goodnight, gentlemen." And headed to his room.

**Part 10:**

"Ezra?" Chris called quizzically as Standish stood and turned his back on them. It wasn't like Ezra to walk away in the middle of a conversation. No, that southern gentleman knew his manners and this incivility didn't seem right. "Listen, Ezra…" And still Ezra did not turn around. Larabee made a move to follow, when a hand came down on his arm.

"He can't hear you, cowboy," Vin said quietly. "He's deaf."

"What?" JD asked, astonished, jumping to his feet and nearly knocking his chair to the ground

"Can't hear," Vin repeated. He glanced back and forth between his friends. They looked at him in disbelief. "Knew it from the minute Buck knocked down that beam after we got Ezra out from under it. Didn't flinch or nothin' though that thing made a racket." He nodded firmly. "Figured he'd have jumped clean outta his skin at that sound."

"Ah, shit," Buck muttered. "That blast musta done it -- that goddamn dynamite!"

Chris stood and started to follow Ezra, but he stopped in his tracks and strode over to the bar. Nathan was halfway up the stairs as Chris retrieved piece of paper and a lead pencil from the bartender.

**Part 11:**

Ezra had walked as quickly, and with as much dignity as possible up the stairs to his room. He was thankful that no one stopped him. _Everything will be all right_, he thought. _I only need to sleep on it and, certainly, my hearing will return in the morning. _

He had made it halfway across his dim room when he saw a suspicious shift of shadow as something moved behind him. The derringer was in his hand in a second -- without its gratifying 'click' of release -- and he spun around to face his attacker.

Chris and Nathan stood in the doorway, and both looking extremely startled. Ezra swore to himself. He never heard them follow him, never heard them open the door, never heard them at all. Shamefaced, he pushed the weapon back into its place and said, "A thousand pardons. I'd no intention of drawing on you."

Chris took Ezra by the elbow and sat him down on the corner of his bed. The gambler could see the concern in the gunslinger's face and it startled him. Larabee said nothing, rather he held up a piece of paper with a short sentence written in block letters.

"CAN YOU HEAR?" Ezra blinked at the note, realizing what it signified. They knew…

Ezra smiled grimly. _Damn_, he thought, _I couldn't fool any of them. I couldn't fool a babe._ "No, I cannot," he replied. "Not a sound." He saw the expressions of the two men fall.

Nathan patted him on the shoulder and then grabbed a kerosene lantern and lit it. He moved to the side and held it up to Ezra's head to peer into his ears. Ezra could feel the heat of the lamp as Nathan brought it in close. He did his best to keep his head as still as possible, despite the closeness of the flame and Nathan's intense stare.

Chris wrote something further on the paper and held it up to Ezra.

"ARE YOU IN ANY PAIN?"

"No, no pain," Ezra answered quietly.

"CAN YOU HEAR ANYTHING?"

"High C," Ezra replied with a grin. When he received a puzzled look in response, he rephrased, "A loud ringing, nothing else."

The next message was, "HEADACHE?"

Ezra replied, "Not too bad." He watched Chris' grim face with interest. Larabee certainly seemed bothered by something.

Nathan switched to the other side and Ezra could feel the warmth of the lantern near his other ear, could see the bright light out of the corner of his eye. Chris was talking to Nathan, and Ezra waited. In a way, he was glad that they had found out. If his hearing had continued to go missing, it would be a difficult ruse to keep up, not that he was doing any good at it up until now.

Nathan had set down the lamp and was behind him, with Chris talking over Ezra's head. The darkly dressed gunslinger looked at the gambler from time to time, but made no attempt to communicate with him. After a few minutes it became rather aggravating. "If you're going to talk about me, please do it elsewhere. As I cannot join in on the conversation, I see no need for my presence."

Nathan came back in front of him and looked into his eyes for a moment, as if trying to see into the gambler and glean something silently from him. He took the paper from Chris and wrote "I'LL BE BACK WITH SOMETHING THAT MAY HELP."

"Just as long as I don't have to drink it," Ezra replied dubiously.

Nathan smiled, but only slightly. He took the paper again and wrote "IT'LL GO IN YOUR EARS." He pointed to Ezra's dead ears for emphasis. Then said something to Chris and the two of them headed toward the door.

"Nathan," Ezra said quietly, and the healer turned. "How long will this last?"

Nathan started to say something, and instead he just shrugged, his face solemn.

"Will it come back? Eventually?"

Nathan looked noncommittal and shrugged again. They remained for a moment, as if expecting Ezra to ask them another question, but not receiving one, they left the room. The door had shut when Ezra suddenly remembered.

"Chris!" he called and the door suddenly flew back open, Chris looking at him in alarm. _Damn it_, Ezra thought, _I must have shouted too loud. I must control myself, get a handle on my own voice. _

The two men stared at him. "The McHales, I neglected to inquire about the McHales." Ezra lowered his voice and Chris needed to step forward to hear him.

Chris smiled, and mouthed, "we got them."

Ezra nodded, grateful for the news, and Chris closed the door.

**Part 12:**

"Well?" Buck asked when Chris and Nathan appeared on the stairs. The men walked slowly down with an air of dejection around them.

"Deaf as a post," Nathan said sadly as he found a seat. "He didn't hear a thing. I even cocked a gun behind him. That explosion must've done him in."

"Damn," Vin said, staring at his drink.

The six sat around the table silently. "What are we going to do?" JD asked, finally.

"We'll just have to wait," the healer responded. "There's a chance his hearing will come back."

"Got any odds on that?" Buck asked.

Nathan shook his head. "I can't say right now." He stood slowly. "I gotta go mix up something. I got a remedy that might help a bit. Works sometimes." He didn't sound thoroughly convinced.

"Damn," Vin said again.

**Part 13:**

Ezra sat in his usual spot, shuffling. He watched the cards as they dovetailed into each other without making a sound. He bridged them without hearing the riffle. He touched the deck to the table without that reassuring 'tap', and tried a more fancy shuffle.

With a shower of black and red, he lost control of the cards and half a dozen floated off the table. He grimaced and rubbed his left hand dolefully. It was still a little numb from being crushed the day before, but the problem was more than that.

He hadn't realized how important just hearing the sound of the cards, falling into each other, was. The world had become so strange -- everything seemed disconnected and out of place. He had trouble walking down the stairs, unable to hear the sound of his own feet on the planks. It had been difficult to shave without hearing the rasp of the razor. Even filling a glass with water took an extra effort. And the ringing was almost intolerable. He'd hardly slept due to the endless bell-tone that filled his head. On top of that, he'd missed the reassuring din from the saloon.

Nathan had stopped by his room that night with a bottle, which he handed to Ezra to examine. Standish had been surprised at the scent of brandy, and was curious about a floral smell carried with the alcohol. It was familiar, drawing him back to a time long ago.

FOXGLOVES, Nathan had written and Ezra nodded, remembering the flowers from Aunt Annie's garden. She had a wonderful garden, but her library was even better.

Still, Ezra considered it an odd use of good brandy.

Jackson had carefully dropped the mixture into Ezra's ears and soaked a bit of cotton in the liquid before stuffing them in after the drops. Nathan had then gestured for him to lie down and rest, his face solemn and concerned. Ezra had expected the cotton to muffle the ringing tone, but it continued as it had before.

After Jackson left, he had lain awake for hours. When he finally drifted off to sleep, he'd dreamed of being trapped beneath the beam again, slowly being crushed by the weight of it, and had awaken silently gasping for breath. He doubted that he slept more than a few hours total all night.

At first light, he'd excitedly sat up and removed the cotton stoppers from his ears, expecting to be assaulted by the myriad of sounds that usually filled the air. He'd been met only with disappointment. No matter. He hadn't finished yet. Nathan had given him directions the night before, using hand gestures and hastily scribbled notes. He needed to clean his ears. That had to be the reason why he still couldn't hear.

For a moment Ezra's hopes had soared as he used water, a basin and a syringe to flush out his ears. He'd followed the instructions perfectly…and failed utterly. He still had been unable to hear.

He had sat for several disillusioned minutes on his bedside before he finally stood and dressed to face the day. He'd left his room unnaturally early that morning and settled himself at the saloon.

Vin had been by the table earlier. The tracker had said nothing, and the two had sat together for an hour or more, doing nothing more than drinking coffee. Vin had seemed content in the silence. Ezra admitted that it was a pleasant enough visit, and was somewhat disappointed when Tanner eventually took his leave.

He looked out across the saloon, watching the activity of the early morning patrons. They flitted in and out of his vision, half-mesmerizing him in their silence. They seemed almost like dancers, moving to an unheard music, like mimes, performing a Greek Tragedy to an audience composed of one.

He rubbed his eyes tiredly, realizing that it was lack of sleep that had drawn him into that dreamy state. Good Lord, he needed some rest.

An apparition came up at him suddenly from below the table and it was all Ezra could do to keep from pulling a gun on the face that met his. It took a precious second before he recognized the grinning face that met his -- Buck, holding the lost cards.

"Thank you, Mr. Wilmington," Ezra said, hoping his voice didn't betray his alarm. "I was about to commence a search for the orphans." He would have to get a handle on that. People were constantly sneaking up on him now, coming out of nowhere.

Buck said something and then pointed to the mug and Ezra said, "Yes, Mr. Wilmington, it's coffee, only coffee. Since it seems that my senses are already impaired I saw no reason to muddle them further." He placed the lost cards back into the deck and set it down beside him.

Buck spoke as he sat down, but then shook his head, remembering. He motioned to the bartender and received a cup of coffee for himself. For a minute, Buck's attention was on the mug. Then, he looked over to Ezra and opened his mouth as if to speak but instead just shrugged. Ezra picked up the cards again and tried the move that had caused the lost cards earlier. It worked this time.

JD suddenly arrived, smiling and talking, waving at Ezra as if he were half-blind and sat down next to Buck. Dunne pulled out a pad of paper, looking rather proud of himself. He wrote for a moment and pushed the pad across to Ezra. "HOW YOU FEELING?" It asked.

"Deaf," Ezra replied, sipping his coffee. He saw JD's expression fall and added, "but otherwise well."

JD pulled back the pad and wrote, "DID YOU GET HURT?"

"No, Mr. Dunne, as I've stated several times before, I was otherwise unharmed by my detainment beneath the mercantile."

"WERE YOU SCARED?"

"It was an unpleasant experience to say the least, but I had total faith in the abilities of my compatriots. I'd no doubt that my unfortunate position would be discovered within moments and I'd be emancipated directly."

Buck rolled his eyes and Ezra could make out JD saying something about 'five-dollar words.'

"Although my auditory abilities has been inhibited, my vocabulary has not."

Buck grinned and JD looked surprised. "You can hear!" JD mouthed.

Ezra smiled. "No, but I do have certain talents."

Buck spoke, but Ezra was unable to catch it. Wilmington was difficult for Ezra. Buck's mustache certainly didn't help, but he spoke too quickly and moved his head too much.

JD, noting Ezra's puzzled look, pushed the pad over to Buck, and Wilmington wrote, "YOU GOT TO SPEEK UP."

Ezra took the pencil from Buck and corrected the spelling and handed it back. "I find it difficult to modulate my voice at the moment. I'd rather speak as a gentleman than a hooligan."

The men both opened their mouths as if they were laughing. The two attempted to keep a conversation going. JD seemed fascinated by the fact that Ezra could understand him most of the time, but Buck only occasionally. But after a short time, it became obvious that they were struggling to come up with something to say or write.

This manner of communication was an obvious strain on the two.

Ezra was doing his best to keep up a good front. His headache was growing worse as he fought to understand JD and to decipher Buck's cryptic messages. Finally, hoping for a little peace, he asked, "Could I interest you gentlemen in a game of chance?"

JD and Buck exchanged glances, looking somewhat reluctant. "Sorry Ezra," he could make out JD saying. Then Buck took pad and wrote "SHORT ON MONNY." JD nodded and pointed to the note.

Of course, it was the day before payday. He should have remembered that. Ezra resisted the impulse to correct the spelling again and returned to restlessly shuffling his deck.

It probably wouldn't have worked anyway. Ezra was finding that he felt totally unbalanced. He was unable to hear the catch in his opponent's voices, the slick sound of their cards dragged across the table, the intake of breath, the squeak of a chair, the thousand tiny sounds that betrayed his opponents. Even if the two were playing with him out of sympathy, he doubted he could have been up to his usual level. It probably wouldn't have helped his mood at all either.

Buck and JD were talking to each other now, looking at Ezra, apparently trying to think of something else to write, but were unable to come up with anything. Ezra watched as Buck tapped the pencil soundlessly on the table. Standish stared at the pencil in fascination, until Buck suddenly stopped, noting Ezra's observing him.

This was getting old fast. Ezra hadn't realized how much he would miss simple conversation. When he had first met up with this group, he had been confounded sometimes by their lack of intelligent conversation. But that had changed over time. He just hadn't realized until this moment how much he enjoyed talking to these men. This awkward conversation was a pale replacement.

Nathan appeared out of the corner of his eye, making Ezra jump again. Damn it, why were people always sneaking up on him? The healer, standing too far to the side for Ezra to see clearly, spoke and Ezra said, "Still deaf, Mr. Jackson." He picked up his cards and returned to shuffling as Nathan sat down beside him. The pad was shoved in front of his eyes. "ANY CHANGE AT ALL?"

Ezra pushed away the pad so he could see the cards. "No, Mr. Jackson, I'm afraid not."

Nathan wrote again and held up the pad. "DID YOU FOLLOW MY INSTUCTIONS?"

"I'm not a fool, Mr. Jackson. I did as you prescribed." He fanned out the cards in a rather intricate move. "The hands seem to be working better today."

The pad was employed again. "RINGING STILL?"

"It continues unabated, making it rather difficult to concentrate. Perhaps I'd be able to focus more efficiently if it weren't for the constant interruptions."

He felt Nathan pat him on the shoulder and then rise to leave. JD and Buck stood with him, waving at him as they left. And he was once again alone at the table, shuffling the cards soundlessly.

**Part 14:**

JD and Buck dogged Nathan out of the saloon. Chris caught up to them on the boardwalk and the four headed toward the jail. "How're the prisoners?" Chris asked.

JD replied, "I'm just heading over to relieve Josiah. I hear those McHale brothers been pretty unhappy about being locked up."

"Well, they shouldn't have stolen those horses," Chris responded. He added with gravity, "And, how's Ezra doin'?"

Nathan shook his head. "Still the same. Says he still ain't able to hear anythin'."

"But, he's gonna get his hearing back, right?" JD asked.

Nathan frowned. "I was hoping he'd be hearing a bit by now. I'll get him up to the clinic later where I can look at 'im again. Don't know if it'll make any difference though. Seen this sorta thing before, in the war."

"And that stuff you used on him?" JD asked. "It'll do the job, won't it?"

"Might," Nathan responded, remembering the thundering cannons that deafened so many during the war, throwing them into a silence that nothing could retrieve them from.

"He seems okay though," JD added. "I mean, if I lost my hearing, I'd probably be locked in my room crying my eyes out about it. Ezra, he's up and around, just fine. He can tell what you're saying, some of the time at least."

Nathan nodded, hoping that everything worked out for the best.

**Part 15:**

Ezra remained in the saloon for as long as he could stand it. People were coming and going, constantly entering and exiting his line of vision, moving erratically. He felt as if he was going to jump every time anyone walked by him. Some seemed interested in asking him questions and nobody understood that he couldn't hear a single word they said. It was only by concentrating that he was able to read anyone's lips in the dim saloon, and now his headache had grown rather severe. The ringing didn't help that any.

Finally, unable to put up with it any longer, he exited the saloon and stood on the boardwalk. There were just too many people inside. He needed to get away from them. He wished he could get away from that ungodly ringing just as easily. People hovered past him. Horses and wagons moved down the road noiselessly. He could see Yosemite bringing his hammer down on his anvil without any noise at all. One of the Potter children was running down the boardwalk opposite him, her mouth open as if laughing, but quiet. He stood, looking over the town that had become something of a home to him -- a town that had been utterly transformed.

With an unheard sigh, he lowered himself to one of the chairs outside the saloon.

**Part 16:**

JD was glad the prisoners were quiet for a change. They had been rather loud for the last half-hour. The two boys were sitting together on one bed, glaring at the lawmen. The three brothers had been known to be troublemakers in town. Many had said that it was only a matter of time before they came to no good. The two remaining brothers had been screaming earlier, throwing whatever they could get their hands on. JD tried to feel sorry for them, for they had just lost their younger brother, but he just couldn't build up any sympathy for the man that had nearly killed his friend.

Buck and Chris were going over the duty roster, trying to reshuffle everything to accommodate Ezra's present condition. "Ya don't have to cut him out entirely," Buck suggested. "I'm willin' to ride with him."

"Sure," JD interjected, "Me, too. He just needs someone around to be his ears for him until this all straightens out for 'im. We can just double up with 'im for a while."

Chris shook his head. "I don't want anyone riskin' their lives for no reason -- not Ezra -- not any of you." Buck was about to speak but Chris cut him off with a glare.

Buck frowned. "He ain't gonna be happy with that."

JD chuckled. "If it'll get 'im out of mornin' duty, I don't think he'll mind."

Chris rubbed his chin as he looked over the list. "He ain't on the schedule for a couple days anyway. With his luck, he'll be fine by then and there won't be a need to make anythin' of this."

Buck didn't look convinced.

Tom McHale suddenly stood and cried, "Our Pa is gonna get us outta here, you'll see!"

Will spoke up next, "Yeah, and yer all gonna pay for what yer friend did to Johnny. Him and all of you are gonna pay."

Buck grabbed a nearby broom and stalked towards the cell. "Shut up!" he yelled, banging the broom handle loudly against the bars.

The two jumped back and glared at Wilmington. "Knock it off!" Tom shouted.

"Yeah," his brother put in, glancing to Tom.

Buck pulled back the broom handle and glared at the young men. "You keep quiet in there, or I'll use it on the both of you next."

Tom and Will dropped back to the cot and silently regarded their captors.

**Part 17:**

Nathan and Josiah strode purposefully toward the gambler, who looked out across the town with hooded eyes. Standish slowly rotated his head and noticed them. He smiled and nodded. "Gentleman," he said, too softly to be easily heard.

"Come on, Ezra," Nathan said. "Let's go to the clinic. I wanna take another look at you."

Ezra frowned in concentration as he watched the healer speak. "Ah, well, I think your diagnosis was correct last night and there is no need for further examination. I'm deaf, Mr. Jackson."

Jackson was taken aback. He hadn't expected that Ezra could truly read lips and he glanced over to Josiah.

The preacher smiled. "He's a talented man. You'd best take care."

Ezra looked perplexed, apparently unable to understand Josiah with his head turned. Sanchez obligingly turned to face Standish. "Come on, brother," he said as distinctly as possible. "Nate brought me as moral support, but he also figured he may need some '_muscle'_ support. We'll carry you up to the clinic if necessary."

Whether or not Ezra understood '_everything'_ that Josiah said was unknown. Apparently he had been able to decipher enough though. He stood abruptly and muttered, "That would be uncalled for."

"Come on, Ezra," Nathan said. "I just want to check if it's gotten any better, okay? Maybe your hearin's comin' back a bit. That'd be a good thing to know, wouldn't it?"

Ezra's eyes watched him intently. Nathan fought the urge to step back from that intense stare. _Damn_, the healer thought. He felt as if he was being looked through.

"Ah," Ezra said after a moment's thought. "Perhaps you're right. I would rather want to know. Yes, let's adjourn to your place of business." He took the lead immediately, leaving Nathan and Josiah to fall in behind.

Once in the clinic, Ezra pulled a wooden chair from the desk and set it in the middle of the room. He glanced to Nathan to ensure that he had placed it adequately. The healer nodded dumbly and so Standish sat, flipping back his coat tails with a flourish.

"Begin," Ezra said with a wave of his hand.

Josiah glanced to Nathan, puzzled by Ezra's manner, but Nathan understood. It was the gambler's way of getting a grip on the situation. Jackson glanced around the room, his gaze falling on a little silver bell that he employed when someone was sick in the clinic and he had to leave a patient alone. It was a means of calling for the healer when he wasn't in the immediate area. Use of the bell was restricted -- very restricted. He picked it up and then stood in front of Standish.

"I'm gonna ring this bell," Nathan said, holding it up for Ezra to see. Ezra's eyes moved from his face to the bell and back again to Jackson's face. "You just tell me if you can hear it."

Ezra moaned. "Lord, Mr. Jackson. Couldn't you find some other sort of noisemaker?"

Nathan grimaced. "It'll do just fine, Ezra." He shook it and the little silver bell pealed, a pretty but piercing sound. "You hear that?"

The gambler watched the movement of the bell and licked his lips. His eyes looked distant for a moment. Suddenly, he smiled. "Yes, Mr. Jackson. Just barely." He nodded happily. "I do believe I heard that!"

Josiah smiled. "That's wonderful, Ezra!" But, he wasn't in Standish's line of vision and the comment was apparently unnoticed.

Nathan looked to Josiah and then at Ezra. "Ezra, I'm gonna have Josiah stand in front of you here, and then I'll ring this bell near your ear. You just need to tell me if you hear it, okay?"

"Certainly," Ezra said with an eager nod. "Let's get on with this then."

"I'm gonna want you to keep you eyes on Josiah. No place else."

Ezra nodded and gestured to Josiah. "Come, Mr. Sanchez. Let's not hold up the experiment. Mr. Jackson asks that I only have eyes for you. How can I deny him that?"

Josiah changed positions so that he was in front of Ezra and Nathan moved behind him. Once he was out of Ezra's range of vision Nathan said, "Josiah, make sure his eyes don't wander none. He's gotta keep them on you. I don't want him seeing this bell out of the corners of his eyes."

Josiah nodded in response and Ezra smiled slyly at him. "He's talking about me, isn't he?"

The preacher grinned. "Yes, he is."

"I thought as much," Ezra turned his head. "Are you going to start?"

Nathan frowned and pointed. "Eyes on Josiah!" he demanded.

Ezra sighed expansively. "Yes, of course." And again he placed his gaze on the preacher.

Once Nathan was certain that Ezra couldn't see him, he rang the bell near Ezra's left ear.

"You hear anything, Ezra?" Josiah asked encouragingly.

Ezra smiled and nodded. "Yes, just then." He turned toward Jackson, but was ordered forward again by the healer.

"Don't say anything this time, Josiah," Nathan said and rang the bell again.

"There it is again." Ezra smiled triumphantly as his eyes sparkled. "A little faint, but indeed, it's there."

Josiah smiled broadly as the experiment continued and Nathan tested both ears with the same results. Every time the bell was rung, Ezra immediately responded that he'd heard it. Nathan grinned in satisfaction. Everything was going to be all right! Ezra's hearing was returning and there would be nothing to worry about. The cocky gambler wouldn't be forever handicapped and would soon be his familiar pain-in-the-ass self. Nathan shook his head and increased his grin at the thought.

"One last time," Nathan said, swinging the bell briefly. He looked up just as the little bell rung and noticed something.

"I heard that quite distinctly," Ezra said delightedly. "It seems to become clearer by the minute."

Nathan felt a heavy sorrow fall on him. He came around and stood in front of Ezra again. "Maybe this ain't such a good idea," he stated.

"It's an excellent idea," Ezra said happily. He beamed at the healer. "And might I thank you for encouraging me to participate in your experiment. It's only a matter of time and my hearing will return. You've proven that and I thank you. Your healin' tonic must have worked wonders on me overnight. At first, I thought it a poor use of such an exquisite brandy, but I've been proven wrong. Thank you, my friend."

"I'm thinkin' that you don't need no one to watch-dog you." Nathan nodded to Josiah who looked perplexed by Nathan's demeanor. "I think we should try this without you right there, Josiah." Nathan signaled the preacher out of his position. "Let's try it again."

Ezra blinked as the preacher and healer moved behind him. He turned in his seat and looked at them. "Certainly, this is unnecessary," he said quietly. "I wasn't bothered by Mr. Sanchez' presence."

"Just wanna try it this way for a while, Ezra," Nathan said, resting his hand on Ezra's shoulder. "Now, I need you to face forward again." He gestured for emphasis when Ezra looked confused.

Standish nodded and did as he was told. Nathan rang the bell as soon as Ezra was situated.

A long minute passed before Ezra spoke. "Just then," he said. "I believe you rang it...just then." But the certainty was gone from his voice.

Nathan held the bell still, wrapping his hand around it to further stifle the little instrument. He waited.

"Again," Ezra said with a determined nod, though his voice lacked the confidence. "You rang it just then." He turned his head and looked toward the two. "Didn't you?" His face fell when he saw the disappointed expressions, the muffled bell. "I thought... Perhaps I was wrong." He searched their faces, seeing everything he needed to know.

He smiled again, but the joy had left his face. "Thank you, Mr. Jackson, for taking the time to prove to me that I am indeed stone deaf." He turned away from them, stood quickly and made his way to the door.

"Ezra!" Josiah called, but the cry was unheeded as the gambler exited the room, slamming the door loudly behind him, vibrating the bottles on the shelf.

Josiah and Nathan remained where they were, Nathan's hand still wrapped tightly around the little bell.

"He was readin' me, wasn't he?" Josiah asked after a moment. "Readin' me like a book. I must have been giving away every ring of that bell." He shook his head, waiting for a response from Nathan, but the healer remained quiet. Finally, Sanchez asked, "What did he hope to gain by conning us?"

"I don't think it was us that was gettin' conned," Jackson said after a moment. "I think he wanted to hear that damn thing so badly, that his brain went ahead and told him that he had heard it every time you gave it away."

Sanchez sighed and sank into the chair that Ezra had just vacated. "Lord, help him," he spoke softly.

**Part 18:**

Ezra could feel the heat of shame on his face has he hurried down the stairs from the clinic. _Good Lord, how could I let them embarrass me like that?_ He paused at the bottom step, letting his hand rest on the railing. _This was insufferable. I'm the laughing-stock of the town. _

_Why did they do it? Just to make a mockery off me?_ he thought as he strode down the boardwalk. He could imagine Nathan and Josiah laughing at him now. Hell, they were probably laughing the minute his back was turned -- not even waiting for him to leave the room -- probably laughing at him even as they performed their little _'experiment'_. Still, his pace slowed, remembering the matching expressions on their faces. No, there was no delight in their visages. There was no mirth... only disappointment.

_Lord, how I disappointed them_.

He came to a full stop as he realized how he had let them down. _What do they think of me now?_ he thought. _Surely, they must think I'm useless to them._ He sighed and shook his head. He had finally found a town where he felt needed, and now, he was too deaf to be of any worth.

Suddenly, a body flew at him in a blur of blue and white. Ezra jerked himself out of the way, just missing the wrangler being ejected from Digger Dan's. Ezra looked at the man rolling in the street for a moment, before another wrangler followed. The second man, a man in a faded calico shirt, jerked the first, wearing a blue vest, to his feet. Calico hit Vest across the jaw. Vest reeled backward, windmilling his hands to catch his balance. He managed to stay afoot and came back at Calico. Fists were flying in a strange silent ballet. Vest caught Calico across the nose and blood spurted in a wide arch. Calico grabbed at his damaged nose and doubled over as Vest tried to grab Calico's head and forced him to the ground.

Ezra laughed. It was all rather comical. He stood to the side and merrily laughed at the strange scene unfolding before him. The two were still going at it. Calico had given up on his nose and had given Vest a knee to the groin. Vest's mouth formed an "O" as he hopped around, clutching at his crotch and Calico prepared for another assault. They were both bobbing about without making a sound.

Ezra grinned. Good God, he needed a reason to smile.

Something grabbed violently at Standish, forcing him almost off his feet. Ezra reeled, prepared to pummel whoever was pulling him backward. Only his quick reflexes saved Buck from getting his own broken nose.

Wilmington's eyes widened as he saw the cocked fist and he mouthed, "It's me!" before shoving Standish into the wall and continuing forward toward the combatants.

JD was right behind Buck. He patted Ezra on the chest as Standish steadied himself after his collision with the wall. JD said something to him, but his head was already turned and he gave Ezra another shove as he went off to help Buck peel Calico off of Vest.

Ezra watched the proceedings coolly, no longer feeling any need to laugh.

**Part 19:**

"He was doing what?" Chris asked as he sat at their regular table in the saloon.

"Laughing," Buck said exasperatedly. "Emmett and Pete were beatin' the snot out of each other outside of Digger Dan's and he's just watching it all, laughing his head off." Wilmington shook his head.

Larabee raised an eyebrow and looked to Nathan, who shrugged.

"Maybe he just thought it was funny," JD said into his beer.

"He could'a gotten hurt," Buck grumbled. "I mean, he was right there in the street, laughing at Pete Drake. After Pete got through with Emmett, you can bet that he would'a taken a poke at Ezra. Wouldn't give a damn that the man couldn't hear him."

Vin smiled. "Ez would'a given him a run for his money. Don't need ears to fight a man."

JD nodded. "I know I wouldn't want to go up against him."

"Fights dirty," Vin responded. 

"Yeah, that Pete's trouble," JD commeneted.

Vin smiled. "Was talkin' about Ezra. Prefer to have 'im on my side."

Josiah sighed. "The man has no sense when it comes to some things."

"Has there been any sign of him hearing again?" Chris asked Nathan.

"Naw," Jackson replied. "Not yet. Been using brandy with foxglove."

"Doin' any good?" Vin asked.

"Ain't seen any change yet," Nathan replied.

JD looked pensive and then asked quietly, "Maybe if we got him to a city with a good hospital or somethin'? Maybe they could fix it? Maybe if we got him to a ...real doctor...?" He ducked his head, not wanting to meet Nathan's eyes.

The healer smiled at the sheriff's reluctance. "I ain't a doctor, JD. I got no shame in admitting that. I do what I can."

"So ...maybe..." Dunne started again, scooting closer to the table, "Maybe I could take him to Ridge City and get him on a train?"

Nathan glanced around the table. "Even if we did get him to a hospital, I don't think that there's a thing they could do. The ear is tricky business, with lots of little parts. Things get broke pretty easy and it ain't a place where you can just cut in and fix."

"If they can't do any better for him elsewhere, I'd rather he stayed put," Chris stated. "We're not gonna send him packin' if it can be helped."

The others all stared at their leader for a moment.

"A hospital might be a better place," Josiah tried.

"It's bad enough he can't hear," Chris continued sharply. "Least he can have is some familiar faces around."

"Yeah," JD agreed heartily. "I think he'll be gettin' better at understandin' us, too. He may even pick up on what Buck says from time to time."

Buck snorted and threw JD a derisive glance.

Chris added, "I'll try and track down his Ma. The woman should know what's happened."

"What'd you 'spect her to do?" Vin inquired.

"See her boy," Chris responded.

"Could be she'll want to be the one that packs him up," Vin drawled.

Chris grimaced. Part of him wanted to keep the woman in the dark, but the part of him that was a father knew what he had to do. "We'll let her know," he said. "Won't let her do anythin' that Ezra doesn't agree to."

Buck shook his head. "That lady can sure bully a fella, and Ezra ain't at his best right now."

"He's got the six of us to back him up," Larabee replied. "We'll see to him."

Buck nodded and then turned to Nathan. "But you think that this stuff you're usin' will do some good?"

Nathan looked at his hands. "In the war I seen a lot of folks gone deaf from the cannons. The doctors used that foxglove on 'em and it seemed to do some good sometimes."

"Sometimes," Vin prompted.

"Could'a been just time that healed those few." Nathan looked glum. "Most of 'em just never heard anythin' again."

Chris sighed and sat back again. "Keep an eye on him," he demanded. "We'll get through this."

"But what if he don't hear again?" Buck asked. "I mean, what if it's gone for good?"

"We adapt," Chris replied.

**Part 20:**

Ezra sat on the boardwalk, watching the traffic pass. It was so strange to watch people and horses move. Everyone seemed so ghostlike. It was like watching clouds passing.

Soundless... his world had become hopelessly soundless. He was deaf.

Lord, how he had hoped that the sweet-scented brandy would have cured him. He truly had thought he had heard that damn bell in Nathan's office. But the healer had confirmed to him, without a doubt, that his hearing was totally gone. His imagination had played a cruel trick on him. Only that insidious ringing remained, stoking the headache that never wanted to abate.

What in the hell could he do now? He couldn't play poker without being able to hear every little nuance of the game. He was hopeless as a peacekeeper now. Why would any one want him? He watched the townspeople drift by with a careful eye. Limited now, he had to pay extra attention to everything. From time to time he would jump as something came at him unexpectedly, so he did what he could to watch everything -- to not be startled. Thus, he knew Larabee was heading toward him, even before the gunslinger came fully into view.

"Mr. Larabee," Ezra greeted.

Chris moved until he was in front of the gambler. Ezra watched as his mouth moved to form the words, "How're you feelin'?"

Ezra squinted. Larabee's face was partially in shadow, making it difficult to read what he said. "My hands are functioning quite well." He held up the mentioned extremities.

Chris frowned and seemed to be studying Ezra as intently as the gambler was studying him. His lips performed the sentence, "Where's your ma?"

Dear Lord, Ezra thought, his smile faltering for a moment. _Why?_

Larabee moved until his face was better illuminated. "I need to know where your mother is, Ezra," he seemed to say.

Standish smiled again. "Mr. Larabee, I have no idea." The con man quickly recalled that his last letter was sent over a week ago and Maude had moved on since then. Even if someone had remembered the address on the envelope, it would be of no help. She would be using one of her other husband's names by now and would be untraceable. She had sent a telegram two days ago, with her latest pertinent information, coded as usual. No, they would be unable to find her.

The gunslinger looked away for a moment and said something. He turned toward Ezra again, midway through the speech and Ezra only caught the last part of the diatribe. Larabee was saying something about how it was for the best and that a mother should know what had happened.

Ezra cocked his head. "What exactly do you expect my dear mother to do?" _Yes, what? Come running to my side? Soothe her poor damaged son? Bring comfort to her now-useless offspring? Come now, when has she ever done that? _

"If you require me to be shut away in an asylum, then perhaps that is the avenue to pursue," Ezra said offhand. "Mother has always been very tidy in her dealings with infirmity." Yes, she had always been quick to bundle him away when he had fallen ill during his youth. He recalled long weeks in a hospital during an influenza epidemic -- long, lonely frightening weeks. There had been another incarceration while a broken collarbone and arm mended. No, she couldn't be bothered with the trouble. "I understand that they have many pleasant activates at such places: basket-weaving, leather-work, broom-making, caning chairs. Perhaps those are the only occupations now open to me?"

She would find no use for him in her cons now, so why would she possibly want to have him with her? No, he would be nothing but an insufferable burden to her. If he had only thought up this scheme earlier, he may have been able to feign deafness in order to gain an advantage. Now, with the malady truly imposed upon him, there was no hope that she would want him in her plans.

"Is that what you require? Should I be preparing for departure?"

Apparently Chris had been trying to talk, but Ezra had overridden him. The gunslinger frowned severely. He spoke again, evidently nixing that idea, somewhat angrily, too. He paced back and forth, severing his communication with the gambler, but creating a rather lengthy reply. He stopped short, and turned to face Ezra again. "Ain't gonna happen that way," Chris mouthed.

At least, for now, Ezra amended to himself. "If that's all you have to say, I'd like to repair to my room. I'm rather tired." And he was. This constant need to be on the alert was wearing him down. The endless ringing and his pounding head was making it ever more difficult to keep his eyes open.

Chris seemed to want to say more, but nodded. He said something about sending Nathan up to his room with more of the worthless brandy mixture.

"Ah yes," Ezra replied. "Perhaps it will work this time?" He smiled and Chris returned the expression somewhat grimly.

**Part 21:**

Vin slowly walked down the boardwalk, toward the jail. It was late, far past midnight, and the town was asleep. Josiah was currently keeping watch at the jail, reading Thackery as the McHale boys slept. It would be three more days before Judge Travis arrived for their trial and until then, the two young men would be guests of the city of Four Corners.

The tracker watched the town, keeping a lookout for the boy's father. They constantly threatened the peacekeepers with his appearance, but so far, the older McHale never showed his face.

It was a beautiful night. Tanner smiled, glad for the quiet. He inhaled deeply as he walked along the boardwalk, breathing in the crisp air. It was nights like these that made him yearn for the trail.

He wasn't a townperson, not a city boy. He was born for the great outdoors and this clear, quiet weather made him yearn to saddle-up his horse and put some distance between himself and this town. Yet still, he continued his rounds.

Damn, when had he become civilized? -- somewhere around the time he joined forces with these other six men. They had come to mean something special to him. They were his link to humanity. All things considered, he was rather content in this life.

Everything was so quiet and still that Vin was startled to hear music. He paused in his steps, wondering at first if he had simply imagined it. A melody surrounded him, matching the night with its beauty.

Breathing slowly, he decided that the music was indeed real. It emanated from somewhere nearby. He stepped forward, trying to locate where it was coming from. Never before had he heard anything like it; it was like the voice of heaven.

Finally, he stopped in front of Digger Dan's and pressed his head against the saloon door. Yes, he could hear the music clearly now. Someone was playing the piano. Leo Quail, the _'pianist extraordinaire'_, usually plied the keys of that instrument with such old favorites as _"Bonnie Blue Flag_" or _"Der Dietcher's Dog"_ or _"Little Brown Jug". _This was something else -- it was poetry. He laid his hand on the latch and tried it. The door was unlocked. It wasn't like Dan to leave the place open for the night. Someone must have jimmied the lock.

Carefully, he pressed the door open, wincing at the squeak of hinges. He paused, the door half-open, expecting the music to stop, and perhaps be replaced with the sound of a cocking gun. But the soft melody continued, and Vin further opened the reluctant door. He peered in, to see a lamp lit beside the piano, and one lonely form on the stool, playing the poor misused instrument.

There in the golden glow of the oil lamp, was Ezra, his coat tails tossed over the back of the piano stool, his arms moving back and forth along the keyboard as the delicate song flowed from his actions. His face was solemn and his eyes half-closed.

_He can hear again, _Vin thought with a smile. _Thank God! _"Hey, Ez," he called as he shut the door behind him. "I didn't know you could play that thing. That's real perty."

He expected the music to stop, but it didn't. Ezra gave no sign of hearing the shouted greeting and continued playing unabated.

"Ez?" Vin tried again.

"Ah damn," Vin muttered. The ambrosial tune seemed sadder every moment as Vin realized that Ezra couldn't hear a note of it. "Ah, hell," Vin groaned, leaning against the door and watching Ezra's animated movements.

But the music stopped abruptly, Ezra's hands over trembling over the keys. The gambler leaned forward, turning his head and sending Vin backward into the shadows. Standish pressed his head against the sounding board and drew an audible breath as the last chord died. For no reason, Vin held his breath, too.

"Please..." he heard Ezra whisper softly. And the room became completely silent.

The hands, still hovering above the keys, flew into movement. They came down violently, slamming out a crashing chord. Ezra pressed his head even tighter against the piano, his eyes squeezed shut as he raised his hands again, forming fists and again smashed down on the keys. The delicate melody was brutally replaced with the tuneless pounding. The piano seemed to be crying out against the abuse as Ezra took out his frustration on the keys.

Vin unconsciously raised his hands to his ears, trying to drown out the cacophony as he pressed against the door. "Damn it, Ez," he whispered. Faster and faster, Ezra attacked the keys, filling the saloon with the tuneless mess. It was if the noise held all the frustration, fear and anger contained in the man.

Tanner shoved open the door as the pounding suddenly stopped. Ezra jumped to his feet. The stool slammed to the floor, spinning in a half-arch as Ezra stood panting beside the piano. Vin quickly backed onto the boardwalk and shut the door, desperate to be out of the way before Ezra noticed him.

Vin turned and headed back toward the jail at a quick clip, determined to get as far from the saloon as possible. He knew that Ezra would never want to be discovered in such a state and he did his best to be somewhere else. He stopped when he heard the door open again and turned to see Ezra peer out and look around. Their eyes met. Damn.

For a moment, Ezra looked undecided, but finally he stepped clear of the closed saloon, shutting the door. "Mr. Tanner," he called loudly.

Vin sighed and walked back toward him. "Hi, Ez." He stopped beside one of the night fires that burned still.

"Lovely night," Ezra said, his voice still too loud for the late hour. As he came into the light, Vin could see his face had a flush to it, his eyes held a wildness. He searched Vin's countenance carefully.

"Yeah," Vin agreed.

"Anythin' unusual happening?" Ezra asked leadingly, staring intently at the tracker. The iffy illumination of the night lit his face strangely. "Anything out of the ordinary? Something I should be concerned about?" His hands moved nervously at his sides.

"Naw, nothin'," Vin lied. _Concerned, _he thought._..plenty to be concerned about. _

From somewhere behind Ezra, a man leaned out his window and shouted, "Shut the hell up! You got any idea what time it is?"

"Very well," Ezra continued in his voluble voice. "I suppose I might take a walk as it's a beautiful evenin'."

"Yeah," Vin answered.

Ezra nodded and touched the brim of his hat as the man yelled an obscenity and slammed his window shut.

"Good night," the gambler shouted as he turned and ambled down the dark boardwalk toward the opposite side of town. Vin watched as the gambler slid in and out of the light created by the dying fires. First he was there... and then he was gone...to return again farther away.

Vin considered following him, but was well aware that Ezra knew that his impromptu concert had been overheard. No, he probably didn't want any company right then.

_Wish I could talk to you_, Ez, he thought.

Vin sighed, remembering the beautiful melody. It was the first time he had ever heard anything like it and it hurt him to think that Ezra might never hear the same again.

**Part 22:**

Ezra steeled himself before he came down the stairs. "Courage, Ezra, courage," he said to himself. At least, he hoped it was to himself. He started downward, keeping a close eye on who was in the room as he entered. He easily found the other six, sitting around their usual table, drinking coffee. The room was dim as always, but a kerosene lamp was sitting on their table, making it unusually bright.

His gaze paused a moment on Vin, and he felt again the keen embarrassment of the night before. The tracker had undoubtedly witnessed his display at the piano -- if not visually, then aurally. At least the bounty haunter had found the decency to let the abashment go unnoted.

He strode to the table, nodding to his co-workers as he approached. "Good mornin', gentlemen," he said as he pulled out his chair without hearing it skid on the floor, though he felt the vibration. He didn't raise his head to see them as he said, "And before the inquiries begin, I'm still quite deaf." Yes, he had tested his hearing that morning, tapping a spoon against a glass -- and receiving nothing beyond the constant ringing that followed him everywhere.

He was able to catch the disappointed looks on their faces, but he did his best to keep up a good front. He had to be able to do that, for what did he have left outside of his ability to put up a good front?

Nathan pulled at his sleeve and waited until Ezra turned to face him. "You gettin' any sleep?" the healer mouthed.

Ezra nodded. Technically, it could be called sleep. "Yes, Mr. Jackson, of course," he replied. One or two hours of sleep per night was enough, wasn't it? How could anyone sleep with that constant pealing?

Jackson went on about how he was going to give him a sleeping powder.

Ezra felt his heart constrict. "No, that won't be necessary," he said as levelly as possible.

The healer looked annoyed and started going on about how he knew what was best.

Ezra talked right over him. "Mr. Jackson, I'm already hopelessly impaired. I'm not going to further destroy my remaining senses by submitting to a drug."

The others at the table were talking and Ezra did his best to take them in, but they were all jabbering at once. He looked up when he saw the motion of the door and noted that one of the telegraph operator's children had entered.

Little Casper Juje approached the table, at first only noticed by Standish. Ezra fished a coin out of his waistcoat pocket and held it. The boy went right to him and exchanged it for the telegram and then high-tailed it out of the saloon.

Ezra scanned the message quickly and then said out loud, "It would appear that the sheriff of Red Rock is asking for assistance. He has suffered the loss of eight prisoners, dangerous and deadly. He requires assistance in rounding them up and has asked for help from Four Corners."

The gambler watched as the six men stood as a group and headed out the door.

Ezra followed.

**Part 23:**

It was good; that was Chris' thought as they strode to the livery. There was no need to speak a word. There was a job to do and they would do it. It was good to be part of such a team. He felt his heart race as they approached their horses and the animals moved excitedly, stomping about in their stalls, snorting and whinnying, knowing what was about to happen. It was good.

He went immediately to Job's stall and started to saddle him. The black horse rippled his skin in anticipation. His men were well practiced in this activity and they would be underway in minutes.

_Yes_, he thought, _this was good. _

"Chris," Buck said under his breath from the adjoining pen, with his horse, Clyde. "Chris." He jerked his head toward the stall on the far side of his grey, where Ezra was preparing his own horse.

There seemed nothing odd about it immediately. This was the way it was supposed to be. Ezra was tending to the temperamental creature that seemed determine to crush him against the dividing wall. _Ain't nothin' peculiar about that,_ Larabee thought. But, the reality of the situation descended on him.

"Aw, hell," Chris muttered, watching as the gambler finished settling the saddle blanket and then lifted the saddle onto the prancing chestnut's back. With a sigh, Chris pushed past his horse and exited the stall to stand in front of the one at the back corner.

"Ezra," he called, but the gambler's back was to him. "Ezra," he said again, touching Standish on the shoulder. _Don't make this hard, Ezra. _

"A moment, just a moment please," Ezra said, not turning. Chaucer was tossing his head and stomping his feet in excitement as Ezra tightened the cinch on the saddle. "Don't step on me, old friend," he muttered to his horse. "It'd be ill-advised."

"Ezra," Chris said as he touched the gambler's shoulder again. "Come on, Ez."

"Distractions are not helping this situation," Ezra responded.

"You're not helping either," Chris mumbled. "Let's get this done, Ez." With a sigh, he shoved against Ezra's shoulder to turn him, but the gambler was braced against the horse and couldn't be moved. Chaucer glared at Larabee.

"No need for such encouragement," Ezra said with bite in his voice. "I'm going as fast as I can."

Chris looked over his shoulder to see the other five men had all stopped their preparations and trained their gazes on him. Larabee realized he'd best get this over with immediately.

Chris waited until Ezra had released his grip on the saddle, then he firmly grabbed Ezra by the forearm and hauled him from the stall.

"Mr. Larabee, please!" Ezra exclaimed as he stumbled. He stood and straightening his hat. "You're delayin' our departure."

"Ezra, stop acting like such a stubborn..."

Ezra cupped a hand behind his ear. "So sorry," he said. "I can't quite catch what you're sayin'." He turned back toward the stall, trying to snag the bridle from its place.

_If that's the way it's gonna be.._.Larabee thought as he grabbed Standish again and shoved him toward the light near the door. Ezra fought to keep his balance on the straw-littered floor. _You're makin' this hard on yourself, _Chris thought. _Don't make it any worse. _

"Listen!" Chris shouted once he was sure that certain that Ezra could see his face clearly.

Ezra smiled and shrugged. "I would if I could, Mr. Larabee. Now if you'll let me return to my horse, we could be underway. Red Rock awaits."

"You ain't comin'," Chris said as civilly as he could manage.

"I'm nearly ready. If I weren't so rudely interrupted, I'd be finished by now."

"Ezra!" Chris slapped a hand against one of the roof supports in frustration. _Open his damn ears! _he inwardly cried_. Don't make this so damn hard!_ "You can't come."

"But certainly, I'm more than capable of shooting my firearm. My eyes are unaffected and my hands have totally recovered from the ordeal. There are outlaws on the loose that must be apprehended."

Chris paused. When the hell did Ezra really become a lawman? Who would have believed such words coming from this self-indulgent card sharp? Larabee tried a new tactic. "I need you to guard the prisoners."

"Undoubtedly Mr. Green would be willin' to help out. His mother-in-law is in town and he's eager to be away from the house for a while yet." He grimaced theatrically. "In-laws," he intoned and looked knowing to the others, "nothing but trouble."

Chris waited until Ezra's gaze swung back towards him. "You have to keep an eye on the town."

"Ah yes, an eye. At least that still works. Still, why bother? We've left the town unguarded before. Why is this instance any different?"

"The McHale's father..."

"Really, Mr. Larabee. You are listenin' to half-grown horse-thieves now?"

"Damn it, Ezra!" Chris barked, finally giving into his frustration. "If you go, you'll get yourself shot."

"That, Mr. Larabee, is my concern." And Ezra tried to step around him and get back to his horse.

Larabee grabbed hold of Ezra's jacket and shoved him back against the doorway to the livery. Ezra collided into the frame with an _'ooof'. _

"Listen to me, you stubborn son-of-a-bitch! I can't let you do this! There's no sense to it. Your life is MY concern."

Ezra wrapped his hand around the hand that clenched his jacket and gave Chris a deadly glare. His other hand landed on his Remington. "I absolve you of that responsibility."

The other five were behind Larabee now. "Chris," Buck said. "Maybe it'd be okay?"

"We'll watch out for him," JD promised.

"I can't count on you, Ezra," Chris said, calming his voice, trying to soften the blow. "What if Buck gets shot 'cause he's lookin' out for you? What if JD gets hit 'cause you were suppose' to be coverin' him, but you couldn't hear anyone coming? What if Nathan's tryin' to get your attention and takes a bullet 'cause you're not lookin' in the right direction?"

Ezra released his grip on Chris' hand and said nothing for a moment. His face was impassive as his other hand fluttered from the gun and rested at his side. "I see," he murmured. "You've made a valid point." He made a gesture of submission. "I acquiesce to your greater intelligence."

Chris released the con man's jacket, which Ezra quickly straightened. He dusted the lapels and didn't raise his head as he said, "Now, if you will let me pass, I'll return my mount to his previous state and will bid you adieu to commence my task of watching the town."

Chris stepped aside.

"Hey, Ez," JD said as Standish passed him. "Ain't so bad. Just think of it as a bit of a break." But Ezra didn't turn; his eyes were fixed on the horse. With experienced hands, Ezra quickly had the saddle loose and returned to its place in the stall. He ran a hand across the animal's bare back as he removed the blanket. Chaucer nickered in confusion.

"It's really for the best," Nathan said as Ezra exited the stall. "We're just watchin' out fer ya."

"Truly, Brother," Josiah agreed. "We don't want to see anything happen to you."

"Yeah, Ez." Buck nodded. "You'll be all set to go next time. You'll see."

Vin watched silently, wishing that Ezra would look his way, look up at any of them, but the conman's eyes remained averted.

Chris contemplated blocking Standish's path so that he could have one last word with him before they left, but Ezra looked as if he would charge right through him, and he let the gambler go.

But Ezra never raised his head and left the livery without saying another word. Chaucer whinnied at his departure and the men looked to each other silently.

**TBC**


	2. Section 2

**CLEAR AS A BELL** - Second Half  
_By NotTasha_

**Part 24:**

He watched them leave -- the six of them. They rode out of town in a cloud of dust, eager to reach Red Rock and assist in the round up of the dangerous escapees.

They had left him behind. Useless... chaff... a gangrenous limb in need of amputation.

He leaned back in his chair and sighed. He wasn't even allowed to guard their prisoners. Jed Green had already moved into the jailhouse and had pleaded with Standish to let him remain. Ezra hadn't understood most of what the storekeeper had said, but had caught the gist of it. Mother Dear had taken over the living quarters above the store. Ezra couldn't fault him for wanting to steer clear of a demanding woman. He had left the jail to Green and found his seat outside of the saloon. He could see most of the town from this vantage point and would do his best to protect it.

He held his rifle across his knees as he watched the townspeople come and go. They threw him curious glances as they moved past, but they didn't bother him.

Mary Travis stopped by at one point with coffee, and Mrs. Potter arrived later with a sandwich and her famous pumpkin pie. Nettie Wells and Casey strolled past, their arms laden with supplies. He helped them load their wagon and sent them on their way.

Inez came by as evening fell with beer and a uniquely seasoned dish. She spoke the name to him, but he was having enough trouble with deciphering English -- Spanish went right over his head. The meal was quite acceptable. He decided he'd have to ask her to write down the name when she had the time. She came again later to take the dishes and to deliver a liberal glass of bourbon. Ezra set the drink at his elbow and sipped at during the long evening.

Night fell and the fires were lit in the street. The saloon filled with silent activity. A drunk, at one point, was dumped unceremoniously in the street. Ezra watched as he staggered to his feet and disappeared into the dark. Standish kept an eye on him, to ensure he didn't cause any harm. Later, Inez retrieved him to break up a fight. A display of arms was all it took to stop the combatants. He returned to his seat and listening to the ever-present bell-peal that never left him.

The streets emptied as the night deepened. Mrs. Potter brought a blanket and coffee. He wondered what she was doing up at such a late hour. Really, the women had children and should have been at home keeping watch over them.

He had left his seat from time to time, for necessary reasons -- the call of nature and, once, to return to his room to apply the cure that Nathan had supplied. Ezra had seen the doubt in the healer's eyes, but he was willing to try it. Even if the odds were stiff, the payoff was well worthwhile. He returned to his seat, and watched the night, dozing from time to time, with bits of cotton shoved discreetly into his unhearing ears.

Early morning brought a rosy glow to the sky. He observed indifferently as the sun rose and brightened the town and life returned to the street. He left his position again to clean up for a new day, to shave and change his clothing. Upon his return, Mrs. Travis brought coffee, biscuits and jam. People came and went. Some stopped and tried to talk, but Ezra was having trouble concentrating enough to understand them, and they left rather quickly.

Ezra napped for a short while, but the ringing soon woke him and he found another sandwich and a generous slice of pie placed at his elbow, along with a tall glass of lemonade. A napkin had been thoughtfully placed over the top, keeping the meal safe from flies until he awoke.

For some reason, Mrs. Wells appeared again in town with Casey. Usually Mrs. Wells visited town once a week. He tried to discover if anything was amiss, but she only fussed about him, and went off to speak to Mrs. Travis and Inez. Mrs. Potter joined them and the women held a conference at the Clarion.

There was an argument concerning ownership of a horse. Ezra mediated as best he could, drawing up a contract that allowed the men to both leave the situation feeling like winners -- or at least neither appeared to complain. They might have cursed him, for all that Standish was aware. After that, Ezra returned to his seat in front of the saloon.

Evening fell again and Inez brought tamales and a beer, and soon it was night. A pair of cowboys rode into town, with a look of menace about them. Ezra stopped them in their tracks and ordered them to turn around, using the Remington revolving rifle to press his point. The two appeared ready to pick a fight but, after getting a good look at the town's protector, they turned and left.

The night dragged on, as the fires burned low.

Ezra startled when he saw the six weary riders enter the town. He brought the rifle to ready until he was able to make out who moved through the darkness. He lowered the weapon and stood stiffly when he recognized them. Finally Vin turned his head and spotted him on the boardwalk. Ezra touched the brim of his hat. He turned, entered the saloon and returned to his room.

**Part 25:**

They were dead tired. The ride to Red Rock had been hot and exhausting. The round up of the escapees went off rather well. Two of the former prisoners were dead, the rest were in the Red Rock jail again. No lawmen had lost their lives. That was always a winning situation -- usually a reason to celebrate.

The six were mostly unscathed. A bullet had creased Buck's forearm and a man had tried to knife Josiah. Neither wound was very deep, but the injuries only added to their collective misery. Not much was said during the two days. Everyone was irritable, and the lawmen of Red Rock were quick to give the regulators of Four Corners all the space they needed. When they left, no one resisted.

The ride home was long and hard. They had left late in the day, knowing that they would return to Four Corners after dark -- but the moon would be bright and no one had wanted to stay in Red Rock another day.

Larabee watched the familiar buildings form out of the blackness and was glad to be on the main street once again. He turned his head slowly to take in the ruined mercantile. He sighed, remembering his panic as they dug Ezra out of that horrible tomb.

He'd have to find Ezra soon, not let this thing go hanging over their heads.

The group of six wordlessly made their way to the livery and, almost as if a signal had been given, all came to a stop at the same time and dismounted.

Chris took the reins of his tired steed and brought Job alongside Peso. "I'll find him and talk to him in the morning," Chris told the tracker.

"Yup," Vin replied.

"It was the right thing to do," Chris said, as much for his own confirmation as the others. "Couldn't let him get himself hurt. He just doesn't know what's good for him -- too stubborn to realize that. Besides, we needed someone to watch the town."

Vin nodded. "I don't think you needed to worry none. I'm pretty sure the place got watched while we was gone."

**Part 26:**

Ezra strode into the saloon and noted that the others weren't there yet. Only a few patrons were sitting about, drinking their morning coffee. With a deep sigh, Ezra sat down in his chair. He caught the bartender's eye and the man quickly came to him with a cup of coffee. He nodded his thanks and the wordless transaction ended.

He clasped the mug, watching his hand tremble. _Lord, when had that started?_ he asked himself. He sipped at the hot brew, hoping that it would calm him down. He was so incredibly tired, but sleep evaded him. He sat back and gazed out the window. Heads moved past the window. Two people met just outside and greeted each other with wide flapping mouths. They might have been a hundred miles away. Ezra watched the two, idly trying to read what they were saying, but he couldn't concentrate enough and it came to him as senseless gibberish; perhaps it was.

Something moved beside him. Ezra jumped, his derringer flying into his hand and he aimed the little weapon at a quaking bartender, holding a pot of coffee.

"My apologizes, Mr. Rutledge," Ezra said to the large man, quickly stowing the gun. He tried to keep the quaver out of his voice.

Rutledge nodded and babbled on about something, quickly filling the half-empty mug and scuttling back to the bar.

Damn it! He was jumpy as a cat. He felt himself twitch every time someone walked near him. More than once he felt the urge to draw. He pulled his Remington from its holster and set it before him, hoping the visibility of the weapon would calm him down. He noted that the patrons of the saloon were suddenly giving him a wide berth.

Ezra rested his head in his hands and stared at the contents of the mug. The coffee swirled slowly and hypnotically. Lord, he wanted this to end. The horrible ringing had filled his head, leaving no room for anything else.

_I have to get away from this, _he thought.

He stood abruptly and grabbed his gun. He jumped back for a moment as he noted the startled behavior of the people around him. He shook his head sharply. Lord, he needed to be free of this. He stepped to the door and exited.

People on the boardwalk stopped and nodded to him, making odd gestures or slamming their mouths shut as if merely speaking would cause some odd reaction from him. He pushed past them and stood at the verge of the boardwalk.

Carefully, he looked both ways to ensure that nothing was coming. He had to be so damn careful now. It galled him to realize how much he required all his senses even for a task as simple as crossing the street. Once he was sure that the way was safe, he crossed to the livery on the opposite side of the street.

Inside the building, it was warm and dim. The gambler scrutinized the interior, glad to see that no one was around. He moved to his horse's stall and Chaucer lifted his head at his owner's approach. It seemed to Ezra that the horse might have nickered at him.

"Good morning, to you as well, my friend," Ezra said as he ran his hand along the horse's muzzle. "I'm sorry for that abortive chance at exercise the other day. I should have taken you out for a stroll." The horse tried to lick his hands. Ezra checked to see that the animal had been properly fed that morning, then he took a brush off a nearby shelf and stepped into the stall.

Chaucer pressed his head playfully against his owner's chest and Ezra could feel the warmth of the animal against him.

"Careful now," he said softly, "I've only recently escaped from a possibly debilitating pulverization." It seemed like years since he had been trapped beneath that beam, but it was really only a few days -- eternally-long days. His chest was still somewhat sore -- an almost forgotten annoyance. The horse continued to press against him, oblivious to his owner's discomfort.

"I see that I'm not the only one who doesn't listen," he muttered and sidestepped away from the animal's head. Carefully, he began grooming his horse. As he was brushed, Chaucer shuddered and shook his skin, leaning into the brush and nearly crushing his owner inside the pen. Ezra let the action go unchastised.

He hummed softly to himself, not knowing if he was in tune or not, as he painstakingly continued his brushing. He could feel himself relaxing now, finally, a little. Chaucer kept his brown eyes on his owner as the man gently continued his task. Ezra's movements became slower and slower.

When he was done, he set down the brush on its usual shelf and sighed. And then, he wrapped his arms around Chaucer's neck. He sighed, pressing the side of his head against the horse, trying to listen. He couldn't hear the creature's great heart nor the tremendous sound of his breathing, but it was warm and soft and for a moment he was content just to stand there, letting the horse support his weight. The ringing didn't seem so irritating here.

He was feeling immensely tired. His lack of sleep and the stress of the previous days had caught up with him and he felt as weak as a kitten. "My friend," he murmured as he released the horse and sat down on a small stool that had been left in the pen. "My good friend." With a sigh, he reached up to pat Chaucer's muzzle gently. Ezra closed his eyes, for a moment only, and drifted off to sleep with the chestnut horse watching over him.

He dreamed without sound.

**Part 27:**

Chris opened the door to the jailhouse and found JD sitting behind the desk, pressing the heels of his hands against his ears. He glanced up at Larabee and smiled meekly, dropping his hands to the desktop.

"I was just trying…" JD started to explain. He paused for a moment before stating again, "To see what it was like."

Chris nodded at the young sheriff.

"To be deaf, you know," JD continued. "But I could still hear you come in that door." He looked defeated and drummed his fingers on the blotter. "It was all muffled and I thought I kinda knew what it was like, but I heard ya open that door." He held up his hands for a moment and let them drop again.

"I did the same thing myself," Larabee admitted. "I thought, maybe, it'd give me an idea of what it was like. Thing is, I could pull my hands away when I wanted." He frowned. "We just don't have a clue."

JD nodded in agreement.

Buck came up behind Chris and looked puzzled for a moment, trying to figure out what the two somber men had been talking about. "Are Will and Tom givin' you any trouble?" He nodded to the sleeping McHales. For horse-thieves, they sure spent a lot of time asleep.

"Not a problem," Chris replied. The boys had stirred at the sound of their names. "Better stay that way," he added darkly as Tom sat up.

"Buck," JD said, "you ever think on what it'd be like to be deaf?"

Buck chewed his lip for a moment. _Ah_, he thought, _so this is what they were talkin' about. _"Can't say I've lingered on that thought much."

"I don't know what I'd do," JD confided. "I think maybe I'd just go away and try to lock myself away somewhere." He sighed. "Ezra seems to be doin' a lot better at this than I ever could. Most the time you don't even know he can't hear."

"That's the problem," Chris muttered. "He acts as if nothin's wrong."

"Probably better that way," Buck put in. "I 'spect he's doin' his best to just be… well… normal."

Chris leaned against the wall. "He wouldn't 'ave had a chance if he came with us to Red Rock. Bullets were flying from everywhere."

Buck rubbed his sore arm thoughtfully. "Yeah," he agreed. "Damn shame though." He had seen the hurt look in the gambler's eyes, understood how much the slight had affected him.

"I ain't gonna have him killed," Chris returned. "Gotta see to that. It's my fault that this happened to him in the first place!"

"You blow up that building?" Buck bit back. "You make him go on in there? If I remember right, he was s'posed to stay by the corral."

"You sayin' it's Ezra's fault he got deaf?" JD asked incredulously.

"Naw," Buck returned quickly. "That ain't what I said at all."

"He was jus' tryin' to do his job," JD continued with a snap in his voice. "Tryin' to catch those horse-thieves. Lookin' out for the all of us!"

Buck nodded sagely. "Yeah, I figure he went into that buildin' 'cause of Johnny. Probably seen him in there and figured he'd better go after him."

"Anyone ask 'im?" JD continued. "Anyone bother and try to ask him how it all happened?"

Chris and Buck exchanged glances, aware that they had hardly spoken to Ezra. _Hell, they couldn't really have a conversation with him now, could they?_ Chris sighed, realizing that he hadn't bothered to really try. He had done little more than deliver orders to Standish.

Tom McHale was suddenly on his feet. "He done killed Johnny, that's what he done! Shot him dead! The bastard deserves more than what he got."

Buck strode angrily to the cell and glared in at the boys at the back. "Let's get this straight right now." His voice was low and deadly. "Your brother's what caused all this. He's dead 'cause the three of you thought you'd take somethin' that wasn't yours. He's dead 'cause he tried to kill a friend of mine. You say anythin' against that friend again, and you'll end up like your brother."

JD glanced to Chris, who's attention was on the prisoners. Larabee nodded, confirming the validity of Buck's statement.

**Part 28:**

Ezra woke with a start when someone pulled the hat off his head. The derringer once again leaped into his hand, and it took a panicked second for him to focus on his attacker…his own horse. Chaucer was totally calm, not even bothered that the little pistol was pointed between his eyes. He seemed more interested in shaking Ezra's hat to pieces.

"Now, stop that," Ezra gently admonished as he returned the pistol to its rig and stood. "You know that you shouldn't treat a man's property that way." He easily took the hat from the horse and inspected it, finding it sound. "You remember when I bought this now, don't you? At Mr. Mason's, wasn't it? That was in Baton Rouge, and you'll recall that you received a rather fine praline in the bargain." The horse again pressed its head against his chest, and Ezra scratched the animal's ears. "You were very patient that day, weren't you? It took me nearly an hour to find the perfect hat. And now you go and misbehave like this."

The horse pulled his head away and lipped the man's nose. Ezra felt the horse's hot breath on his face.

He grimaced. "Stop that," he said and the quarter horse tossed his head playfully. Ezra patted him on the forelock, smiling. But the smile slowly fell as the ringing in his head continued.

"Ah, Chaucer, what am I going to do?" he asked with a sigh. "Do you think this incessant ringing will ever stop?" Chaucer looked warmly on him. "Do you believe that my hearing will return?" The horse seemed to contemplate him seriously. "I really don't think I can handle this much longer. It's so difficult, so very hard. I can't hear a thing and have become nothing but a burden to them, a liability that's bound to cause them harm in the end."

"I'm so very tired. Every day I try to cope with this wretched deafness, but it seems to be drawing me downward. It's not getting easier, but harder by the minute. I feel so lost...so hopeless. I don't know what to do." He stroked the horse gently, not knowing if his voice sounded calm or not. "I really don't know what I'm going to do."

He rested his head against the animal again and muttered, "Thank you for listening, my friend."

He jerked upright and spun around to look behind him. He could see a figure inside one of the other stalls. Even in the dim light he could make out that it was Josiah. The big man was apparently trying to remain unseen in his own horse's stall. Ezra swore to himself. Damnation! He should have been more careful.

Without wasting another second, the gambler departed from Chaucer's pen, the horse nipping at the back of his jacket as he swung the door closed. "Good mornin', Mr. Sanchez," Ezra said as he stepped through the stable without looking at the man. Noting the quality of light outside, he amended his statement. "Or perhaps I should say, _'Good afternoon'_." He didn't turn as he spoke and exited the livery.

Standish nearly collided with the stagecoach as he stepped quickly into the street. The coachman yanked the horses to a halt, barely averting disaster, as Ezra, apparently oblivious, continued across the street to the saloon, the ringing in his head seeming to increase with every step.

**Part 29:**

Josiah entered the jail, with Nathan close behind. He nodded to the men as the healer shut the door. "Brothers," the preacher said, "we need to do something about Ezra."

"Hi, Josiah," JD greeted. "Ez seems to be doin' alright. Mary Travis told me that he did a good job takin' care of things while we all were gone." The young sheriff frowned. "She seemed kinda annoyed about somethin' though, and said that Nettie had a word or two for us."

Josiah continued, "I think he was asleep in the livery for quite a while." The others looked at him and he continued. "I was checking on my horse. I'd been there for only a minute or so and didn't see any sign of him. Then I suddenly heard Ezra, talkin' to Chaucer."

"What makes you think he was asleep?" JD asked.

"Woke with a bit of a start. Pulled a gun on his horse," Josiah said.

"The derringer again?" Chris asked and received a nod in response. He groaned. Joe Rutledge from the saloon had reluctantly relayed the information that he had also been the target of the hidden gun earlier that day, plus Ezra had drawn it on Nathan and himself on that first night. Rutledge seemed concerned about Ezra's state, wondering if it was safe to have him in the saloon.

Buck said, "He looked kinda beat before. Maybe he was just tired, just fell asleep. You know he can fall asleep just about anywhere. He's got all this talk about feather beds and such, but he'd probably be able to catch a nap in a prickly-pear patch if he had a notion to."

Nathan asked, "Did he look okay? He seemed kinda nervous the last time I seen him. I've been hearin' folk say they've seen him actin' jumpy."

Josiah frowned. "He looked well enough. Still, looks can be deceiving. He tells his horse more than he'd say to us. I overheard him. He's not holding up as well as he pretends." He paused. "And he almost got himself run down when he stepped into the street."

"I'd better go see him," Chris declared. "I still got to talk to him about that Red Rock business. I just don't know what I'm gonna to do about that damn derringer of his. Josiah, you want to come along?"

Josiah shook his head. "He saw me. I doubt he wants to see me again any time soon." Chris nodded knowingly.

JD stood. "Josiah, you wanna keep an eye on these boys then? I think I should go with Chris."

"I'd better check up on him, too," Nathan said with a sigh. "I don't know if he's kept up with the treatment or not. I probably have to twist his arm on that one." He sighed, knowing that the brandy and foxglove probably wasn't going to do any good. "Anyway, I gotta try and get him to take something that'll let him sleep. I don't know if he's gotten any decent rest since this happened."

"Well, if Josiah is staying here, then I'm tagging along with you all," Buck added. "Gotta make sure you don't railroad 'im into anythin'."

Josiah watched as the four men left the jail. _There's too many of them,_ he thought. This wasn't going to go over well. He considered running after them, but knife cut on his thigh made him reconsider and he sat down at the desk.

**Part 30:**

Chris, Buck, JD and Nathan were halfway to the saloon, when a ruckus erupted within. They heard the sound of chairs and tables being overturned, glass breaking and men yelling. They ran the final distance, crashing through the bat-wing doors and were just in time to see Ezra pop his derringer back into its hiding place. Most of the patrons in the saloon were standing, backing way from him, hands up.

"Everything is fine, gentlemen," Ezra said quietly, sounding shaken. "There is no reason for alarm. I'm humbly sorry, Mr. Green for any undo stress this may have caused you."

Jed Green, looking terrified, backed his way toward Chris and cried shrilly, "All I did was slap him on the back and ask him how he was doin' -- ya know, since we're fellow lawmen now and all."

Chris sighed and approached the gambler who was busily righting his chair. Chris waited until Standish was done and then faced the gambler. Larabee didn't want to do this. He prayed that some natural disaster would suddenly hit the town and give him reason to put off this meeting.

"It was an honest mistake," Ezra began. "He startled me."

Chris held out his hand, palm up. Ezra stared at the hand for a moment, and then a realization came to his eyes. "No, Chris, you can't remove my only protection." His green eyes bored into Chris'.

"It's for your own good, Ezra," Chris said, hoping that he understood, watching Ezra's gaze travel from his eyes to his mouth, to watch his words. It was a disconcerting feeling to be scrutinized so carefully, so constantly.

"But I'm already at a disadvantage," Ezra replied evenly, but his eyes betrayed a fear. "I'd never fire on anyone unintentionally, Chris. You're well aware of that. Drawing the weapon is a reaction to a sudden stimulus. Firing is an entirely different matter, and is something that I've always had control over. That has to be clear. It must be clear. I would never fire on anyone without intention."

The last thing Chris wanted to do was to cause Ezra any grief, but there was no way around this. He stared down at the smaller man, and pointed to the gambler's right arm. "Give me the derringer, Ezra."

"But Chris, you must understand, you must hear me. I would never fire unintentionally." Ezra looked frantically between the men. "To disarm me… now…"

Chris continued, knowing that he had to. "You're gonna be startled and shoot someone before you know it, without meaning to, without wanting to. You might hurt someone, some innocent person. You couldn't live with that, Ezra." _Let this be easy, _Chris prayed. _Let him understand that I only want to help him. _

"But that's not the case…"

"Ezra," Chris sighed. "You could kill someone. You're too damn jumpy right now."

Ezra stared at Chris in disbelief, his eyes searching Larabee's face as if he wanted to find some other message being delivered. He clutched his arm defensively. Nathan, Buck and JD were all behind Chris now, facing down the gambler. His eyes darted from one man to the next, but saw no help in them.

There was no help…

Ezra sighed, tiredly. His face became impassive and unreadable.

"Of course, Mr. Larabee, you're correct as always," he said dully and popped out the tiny gun, then handed it, butt first, to the leader. He then pulled the Colt and Remington from their holsters and set them on the table, and without another word, he turned and headed to the stairs to his room.

Chris tried to catch him, but Ezra slipped away. He called for Standish to stop, but he didn't slow his pace.

**Part 31:**

Ezra lay back on his bed and listened to the ringing. It was insufferable. He placed his hands over his ears for a moment, trying to block out the continual sound, but it did no good. There was nothing he could do to escape it. It was the only sound he could hear. It filled his head.

He sat up and looked at the chair that he had shoved against his door. It had not moved. Earlier he had watched in fascination as the door vibrated in the frame and the knob rotated back and forth, but that ended after a while. Couldn't they understand that he didn't want anything to do with them right now?

Chris had actually taken his weapons from him. He still couldn't believe it. Didn't Chris trust him? Didn't Chris know he'd never fire on anyone? He felt so defenseless. Without his hearing, without his weapons, he was a walking target. He couldn't go outside. There were too many people who'd prefer to see him dead. It was better to just stay here.

He still had his rifle, but it wasn't the sort of thing he could tote around everywhere and it wasn't exactly handy in a quick-draw situation.

He closed his eyes and could see Chris, staring him down, demanding that he disarm himself, right in front of the entire saloon. Buck, JD and Nathan were backing him up. It was four against one and he had no way out. It was the same as the livery, all of them standing behind Chris to prove his point.

The saloon had been filled with people, looking at him suspiciously. It was a look that he was used to. He had lived his whole life with that sort of distrust. But he thought he had found a place where people might actually trust him. Apparently, that was not the case anymore.

He held one hand in front of his face and watched the tremble that had taken hold of him. Good Lord, he thought, clutching at the hand with his other. Not only was he deaf, but he was coming apart now as well. His precious hands were failing him.

He focused at the bottle of medicine that sat on his bed stand and stared at it for a long minute. Finally, he pulled one hand free of the other, picked up the little container, and held it in the palm of his hand, feeling its weight. He had dutifully used the potion every night, even if sleep never found him. And what good had it done? What good had any of it done? He hefted it into the corner of the room where the bottle splintered soundlessly and the fluid ran down the wall. It had been a terrible waste of brandy.

God, he needed a drink.

The bottle of bourbon that he had purchased three nights ago still sat on his dresser. He stood and retrieved it. Since the explosion, he had avoided drinking to excess, had forsaken Nathan's sleeping potions and had tried with all his might to stay alert and ready.

He poured himself a drink. What the hell, he wasn't going anywhere. No, he was never going to go anywhere ever again.

He sipped the glass as he walked back to the bed and sat down. After consuming the contents, he set the empty glass on the bed stand where the brandy concoction had been a few minutes earlier. He sat for a long time on the side of the bed, ignoring the partially full bottle, going over what was happening. He could hardly think straight anymore. If it wasn't for that endlessly ringing bell he might stand a chance, but it never gave him any rest. He was worthless in this state.

_Dear Lord, what am I going to do? _

He had embarrassed himself more than once in front of his colleagues, and now in front of the entire saloon. There would be no refuge for him outside of this room.

Then something caught his eye from beyond the window. He turned sharply and saw a glint of glass. He squinted at the rooftop across from his room and spotted Vin with his spyglass. The tracker, noting that he was discovered, was trying to squeeze himself into invisibility. The gambler stepped to the window and glared at Tanner, who sat up, his face tinged with embarrassment. Ezra angrily tugged the drapes shut and returned to his bed.

**Part 32:**

Vin sauntered slowly across the street and into the saloon. Josiah, Nathan and Chris were sitting together at one table and he joined them.

Chris looked up. "I'm surprised to see you here, Vin."

"He saw me," Vin informed them. "Closed the drapes."

"What was he doin'?" Nathan asked. They had been worried when they couldn't open Ezra's door. Nathan didn't think that Ezra would do anything rash, but -- after all that had happened -- he had to be certain. They had sent Vin to keep an eye on him.

Vin shrugged. "He's just sittin' on his bed for the most part."

"Did he seem okay though?" Nathan asked.

Vin smirked. "Got blown up. Nearly got himself crushed. Can't hear. Got told that he ain't worth ridin' with. Got disarmed in front of a full room by the one man he looks up to. The people he calls friends just watched." He paused and looked at Josiah. "His other friends are spyin' on him. Yeah, he's okay."

Chris sighed, wondering if Ezra ever looked up to anyone. "I only wanted the derringer."

Nathan shook his head. "It's a good thing that we got all his guns though. I don't want to have to be patchin' up anyone due to him being so edgy."

"It wasn't right," Vin stated. "None of this was right."

"I gotta agree with Vin," Josiah declared. "I wish I'd said somethin' when you boys left the jail. Ezra must 'ave felt that you all ganged up on him."

"Ya shouldn't 'a done it in front of everyone at least," Vin added.

"I'll make it up to him," Chris declared. "For all of this, I'll make it up. He'll have to come down sooner or later and then we'll have a talk." He paused then, realizing how difficult that would be. It was hard enough talking to the con man when he had all his given senses in working order. Now, what was he going to do?

Something… he'd have to do something. He couldn't let it go on like this.

The gunslinger glared at the glass before him. He'd fucked up -- royally. He had done everything he could to protect his deafened team member. All of his decisions were sound, weren't they? Perhaps -- but the execution was all wrong.

"Damn it all," Larabee muttered.

**Part 33:**

Ezra lay on his back on the bed. He'd been here too long, he thought. He'd been thinking about what his next move was going to be and he knew he couldn't remain barricaded in his room. What the hell was he doing? He had never just given up in his life. He wouldn't do that now.

He'd have to go out again and face the others, face the town, whether or not they trusted him anymore. It wasn't that important, in any case. He was used to being treated differently. He was just sorry that it had to happen again.

He pulled out his watch and swore silently. It was midnight already. He rolled over onto his stomach and ran his hand along the bottom of the mattress until he found the handle of the LeMat's that was hidden there. He sighed and the pulled the formidable weapon out of its hiding place.

It was a huge and unbalanced looking gun, with one over-sized cylinder and two barrels. A hybrid weapon with nine bullets and one load of buckshot, the most ungainly firearm that Ezra had ever laid eyes on.

He had taken it off the body of a dead felon several months ago. The gun had ended up in his saddlebag and he had fully intended to turn it in to JD when they'd reached to Four Corners, but it had been forgotten for over a week and when Ezra had found it again he saw no need to return it. The owner was dead and Ezra could always use a back-up weapon.

It was an unbeautiful sidearm, but it did feel good and solid in the hand. He had taken it with him for target practice and found it accurate, but it had a powerful kick.

He stood and practiced his aim, sighting on the lamp at his bedside, each corner of the curtained window, the posts at the foot of his bed. He then faced himself in the mirror. He aimed the LeMat's at his image for a second, but pulled the gun back and shook his head.

"Why couldn't you have found a more fitting replacement?" he asked soundlessly as he looked at the reflected image, "Something with some elegance, some style, some subtly?" He holstered it, finding it almost too big to fit in the space custom-made for his Remington. It felt better just to be armed again. Now it might be safe to go out into the street once more.

He looked at himself in the mirror again. You could easily see the weapon under his light jacket. He smiled at how ridiculous it looked. Lord, he'd might as well just carry his rifle.

He realized that he looked tired; he felt so very tired. But it was after midnight already. "You've been sulking, Ezra," he said silently to himself, "And that is not becoming. There's no call for self-pity. You have survived worse and you will make it through this. This is nothing."

He should have been at the jail by now, to take up his shift. He was well aware of the schedule that had been set last week and he knew that Chris had the shift before his. Larabee would be there now, probably angry that he was late.

All things considered, Ezra didn't want to see the gunslinger. He could understand that Larabee didn't want him around in a gunfight -- his very presence might endanger the others. But, Chris had to realize that he would never fire without meaning to. He had to make that clear. Chris would have to understand and return his guns. The LeMat's was no substitute. Larabee would have to see that it didn't look good on him.

Ezra removed the chair and slowly opened the door, peeking into the hallway to see if anyone lurked there. All was dark. He made his way to the outside stairs. The street appeared empty. He was glad that he wouldn't have to meet up with anyone. The town had been rather quiet all week -- apparently exploding buildings were bad for business. The saloon had closed early.

As he made his way down the stairs, he noted that a fog had descended on the town, shrouding everything in mist. He grimaced, not appreciating the moist weather. Maybe he should stay inside.

He thought about the piano in the back corner of this saloon. It was horribly flat -- had been for some time now. The piano at Digger Dan's, at least, had the advantage of being properly tuned. He laughed to himself, thinking of his folly. Why had he chosen the piano at Digger Dan's over this more convenient one? Why would a flat chord make any difference to him now? Hell, after his attack on the instrument, it was probably in worse shape than this one. He should have exhibited the common courtesy to leave the better piano alone.

"Let's get on with this then," he whispered to himself as he stood on the bottom step. "There's no more time for delayin'. Take your punishment now and get on with your life. There'll be no more lamenting things that cannot be helped."

There was movement in the street; something traveled through the murky darkness. Three men were walking shoulder-to-shoulder toward the jail. _Strange time of night for visiting prisoners_, Ezra thought. He stepped back, to ensure he stayed hidden in the darkness.

He could see their taut faces in the difficult light and recognized them instantly. There were the McHale brothers, the older generation. He had seen them around town before. The boys' father, Thomas, was slightly in front of his brothers, Jim and Hank. The three of them were walking determinedly toward the place were the two young McHales were held. Ezra had seen the set of their eyes and knew that they had death in their plans.

Ezra slowly left the dark alleyway. He fell in step behind the three men, doing his best to walk silently. He knew that Chris was currently in the jail, watching the prisoners. This didn't look good. He could read the tension in the backs of the elder McHales and knew this was trouble. He pulled the LeMat's out of his belt and continued shadowing them.

The three men stopped just outside the jail and went for their guns. "Misters McHale!" Ezra shouted, hoping his voice was loud enough, not only to distract the three men, but also to alert whoever was inside the jailhouse.

The three men turned and aimed their weapons at him. Thomas' gun flared even as he turned. Ezra drew, feeling the ill-aimed bullet fly past his head and he squeezed off a shot, the heavy weapon jumping in his hands. Jim and Hank's guns erupted in smoke and light as Thomas staggered and fell.

The gambler dove for cover behind a barrel. The two men went after him. He rolled and came up facing Hank. The man's mouth was open; he was apparently yelling. His gun flashed and smoked and Ezra fired. Hank fell backward. The smell of gunpowder and the brightness of the charge were almost overpowering. Someone was coming at him from through the fog. He leveled the gun at the blurred figure, but dropped his aim and tried to turn.

Something struck him hard, sending him spinning toward the ground. Incredible pain bit into him as he fell. Still, his last thought was, _how strange -- not hearing the shot that kills me_.

**Part 34:**

Chris and Vin were in the jail watching the two remaining McHale boys. They had been difficult guests at best, constantly talking about how their father would come to get them. Recently, they started talking about their uncles as well. Chris ignored most of their threats, but he also knew that they shouldn't be ignored. Vin had taken over Ezra's shift for the midnight watch, and Chris hadn't left yet. Larabee figured he'd make the rounds before heading to bed.

It had been a quiet night up until the moment they heard Ezra's voice, shouting out for the McHales. Chris looked to the two boys and wondered what the hell Ezra was doing. It was then that the gunfire erupted in the street. One of the guns sounded like a canon.

Chris leapt to his feet, followed instantly by Vin. Flinging the door open, he paused for a moment to get his bearings in the fog. He could see Ezra trying to get to cover behind a barrel. One man was writhing on the ground. Ezra was firing at the second. The third would have Ezra in a moment.

Chris burst out of the jail, yelling uselessly to Ezra and running to get into position to take out the last of the men. He froze for a second when he saw Ezra suddenly turn toward him in the mist -- his eyes wide -- and aim a huge pistol at him. Ezra lowered the gun immediately, and within a second, a shot spun the gambler to the ground.

The last of the men didn't have a chance. Both Chris and Vin fired on him at once and took him down.

And for a moment, all was still.

Two of the men moaned painfully, the other two remained silent. The lawmen ran the short distance to where Ezra had fallen. Vin kept his gun on the three other men while Chris crouched down to check the gambler.

"Ezra, hang in there. It's gonna be okay," Chris murmured, and then remembered Ezra couldn't hear him in any case. He placed a reassuring hand on the still man's shoulder as he pulled a bandanna out of his pocket and tried to staunch the blood-flow from the gambler's side. Ezra flinched, but didn't open his eyes. _God, there was a lot of blood. _

"Nathan!" Larabee bellowed. "NATHAN!" He glanced to Vin, who kept his mares leg switching between two of the shooters.

Noting the glance, Vin said, "They ain't gonna cause much more trouble." He nodded to one of the injured, curled up in a ball on the ground. "This one has a good hole in his arm. That one," he said as he indicated another, "won't be walkin' fer a piece." The third only gained a jerk of his head. "The one we got won't be doin' anythin' beside for pushin' up a daisy or two."

JD arrived out of the fog, bleary-eyed, with a Colt in each hand. "Oh, God," he muttered as the scene registered with him. "Oh, God."

"Keep an eye on these fellas fer me," Vin told the sheriff. The two men continued to moan and clutch at their wounds, unaware of their change in guard as Vin squatted down beside the fallen gambler. He laid a hand on Ezra's knee and sighed.

_Stay with us, pard, _Vin thought, knowing that spoken words wouldn't reach Ezra. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his thoughts, as if they might be somehow transmitted to the unconscious card sharp. _Don't ya pack it in just yet. Lots of things left to do. Ya gotta play more of that perty music. Ya got more marks t'fleece, more trouble t'cause. Don't go. _

He opened his eyes, and his gaze fastened on the mean looking weapon, still clutched in Ezra's hand. "I was wondering where that went," he said, as he gently released the LeMat's from Ezra's grip. _Don't worry 'bout it, _he thought. _I'll take care of it fer ya. Make sure nobody jus' locks away somewheres. _ He held the gun in one hand, the other still resting on Ezra. _A fella needs a big gun every now and again, _he thought as he shoved it under his belt.

Chris looked up to see Nathan running out of the mist. "Nate!" he shouted, as if the healer could run any faster.

JD kept his guns on the two wounded men. "What're we gonna do about them?" he asked. One of the two was wailing now.

"They get to wait," Larabee replied sharply as the wounded shooters looked toward him.

Nathan had reached them. Chris stepped back to give him room, and Nathan quickly replaced Chris' blood soaked bandanna with a handful of cloth, holding it firmly in place.

Josiah and Buck suddenly appeared on the scene. "What the hell happened?" Buck asked, and then seeing Ezra's condition muttered, "Ah, hell. Ah, shit. Ah, fuck." He glared at the downed men, and stepped in beside JD to help him guard them. A crowd was forming along the boardwalk; sleepy-eyed townspeople milled around, watching the spectacle, but not coming closer.

Nathan didn't look up, but he nodded to his medical bag as he said, "JD, do what you can to take care of those two." JD and Buck looked incredulous, but Dunne did as he was told, leaving Buck to continue his work as a guard. JD hastily bound up their wounds. The two men complied with Dunne, throwing glances a their armed guard. They realized that it would be best to be silent at this point, voicing only an occasional moan or cry of pain, but stifling what they could when they saw the dark looks coming from the mustached lawman.

Meanwhile, Josiah and Nathan tended to Ezra.

Vin moved from his place. The tracker didn't speak a word, folding his jacket and settling it under Ezra's head, then laid his hand on Ezra's shoulder and closed his eyes. His brow furrowed as if he were concentrating on something. Ezra turned his head to the side and gasped shallowly.

"Help him," Larabee said, too low to be heard. He saw Ezra's hat lying on the boardwalk, in danger of being stepped on. Carefully, he picked it up with his clean hand -- the other was still sticky with blood.

Ezra's eye jerked opened and stared blankly, his head against Vin's jacket.

"Ezra," Chris called quietly, moving until he was in front of those clouded eyes. "I need you to hang in there. Nathan's got you know. It'll be okay." The gunslinger spoke the words, knowing that the gambler hadn't heard them.

Standish seemed to focus on Chris' legs. His gaze slowly lifted, as if trying to meet Chris' face but the task proved too difficult and his eyes fluttered shut as Ezra moaned softly.

Nathan pulled back the bandage enough to note that the bleeding had slowed. "We gotta get him to my clinic. Now!" Nathan said, panic undercutting his voice. Josiah and Vin wordlessly lifted the gambler. They headed immediately to Nathan's clinic, the healer holding onto the hastily bandaged side.

"Careful… careful," Jackson murmured as they hurried down the boardwalk. Vin and Josiah carried Ezra as if he were made from glass.

Chris followed closely. "Who the hell were they?" he demanded of Vin.

"The McHale brothers," Vin replied breathlessly.

"I thought we already got 'em," Chris responded. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked back to Buck and JD who were doing what they could with the wounded men, then followed the others up the stairs.

Vin and Josiah settled Ezra onto a bed and stepped back to allow Nathan all the room he needed. Vin came to stand beside Chris and together they leaned against the wall, while Josiah brought Nathan whatever he called for. He had managed to stop the bleeding, but the bullet had to come out now.

Chris looked at his hand after a moment and realized that he was still holding onto Ezra's hat. He set it carefully on a nearby table and sighed.

"He gonna be okay?" Vin asked tentatively.

"Give me a minute," Jackson muttered, bending over the wound with his painful-looking instruments, trying to locate the piece of lead that had done all the damage. Ezra winced, and shuddered. "Damn it!"

"Anything we can do, Nate?" Chris inquired and Nathan didn't respond. Minutes passed as Nathan worked, and Ezra groaned softly.

"S'alright, son," Josiah said, gently laying a hand on Ezra's arm. "Just hang in there." Ezra moaned again, as Nathan continued to probe the wound, mopping up blood with a cloth.

JD pushed open the door and hung in the doorway for a moment. Finally he stepped inside and shut the door behind him. "We got 'em locked up. Weren't too happy." He glanced nervously over to where Nathan worked on their friend. He gulped.

No one spoke, so Dunne continued, "They'll probably need to be seen to. Buck says that one of 'em ain't gonna keep much of his arm. Told me to tell you to bring a saw when you went to see 'em. Maybe the other is gonna lose his leg. Said he'd watch 'em for now and he gave 'em a couple of snorts of whiskey to keep 'em quiet."

Nathan gave no sign that he had heard, so JD went to stand beside Chris and Vin. The young sheriff cleared his throat and asked, "He gonna be alright, Doc? You'll be able to help him, won't you? He'll be fine, ain't he?"

Nathan looked up, his eyes wide as he took in the expressions of the three men who stood against the wall. "Yer gonna have ta go," he said resolutely. "Can't have you here."

"Now wait a minute," JD cried. "I just got here. I want to stay with him."

"Sorry," Nathan said, lowering his head again to his work.

But Vin and Chris had seen the panic in the healer's face. The gripped JD by his elbows and directed him out of the room.

"Come on, JD," Chris said. "Nate doesn't need our distractions and all our dumb-ass questions."

The three drifted into the empty saloon and sat in the dark. Nobody spoke. Buck wandered in a short time later, stating that Mr. Green had once again offered his services. Apparently his mother-in-law was still in residence. Buck fished a bottle of whiskey out from behind the bar, uncorked it and passed it around. Between the four of them, they worked on finishing the alcohol. The lamp that had sat on the table for days remained unlit. They sat in shadow.

Chris muttered, "If that son-of-a-bitch doesn't make it…" he stopped talking, not wanting to continue that thought. In his mind he could still see all that blood, Ezra collapsed on the boardwalk, could see that pale face looking toward him, trying to raise his gaze and failing, the tossed hat.

"He'll make it," Buck said assuredly. "Hell, he just had a building fall on him and survived it. This is nothing." He was glad that it was too dark in the room for anyone to see his face clearly and he hoped that his voice carried enough conviction.

"He's gotta," JD murmured. "Jeez, Chris, he's just gotta make it."

_Damn right, _Chris thought, realizing how much he needed to say to that stubborn cuss. He felt a cold fear at the thought that Ezra might not recover from this blow, that so much would be left unsaid.

Chris thumped his hand angrily on the tabletop. He turned to Vin in the darkness. "What the hell did you say about those shooters? The McHale brothers?"

"The boys' father and uncles," Vin replied. "They come through town from time-to-time. Don't see the uncles so much though. Guess Ezra happened upon them a'fore they got to us."

"Lucky he did," JD murmured.

"Yeah, lucky," Chris said with a frown. He stared out across the empty, black room and the men were silent again.

Finally, out of the darkness, Chris said, "He didn't fire -- just like he said. He had me in his sights, and through the night, and the excitement, people shooting at him and the goddamned deafness -- he didn't fire."

**Part 35:**

Ezra was aware of a ringing bell. His first thought was, "Not that again." It has been so peaceful without it. His next thought was about the pain that seemed to radiate through his whole side. He remembered, vaguely, the bizarre soundless shootout and he wondered what the outcome had been. Considering his present pain, he figured that it had not gone well.

He was lying on his side. His mouth was dry and he felt light-headed, even lying quietly as he was. He slowly opened his eyes and found himself looking out a window. The curtains were open and it was bright outside. He was in his own room. _Funny_, he thought, _the window shouldn't be open. How did that window get opened? How had it become closed anyway?_ He blinked, trying to get a grip on what was going on.

His eyes traveled across his limited view of his room. He could see his hat on his shaving stand -- not where it was supposed to be. His gaze lingered for a moment on the walls at the corner of his room, remembering something vaguely. The corner looked as if it had been cleaned, but he couldn't recall why it should have been dirty. He always kept his room in good order.

The bell continued to ring, but he realized that it was different than before. It wasn't a constant tone, but rather a series of peals, exactly like a bell being struck, a little muffled, a little distant, but still it sounded like a bell. Why was the church bell ringing? He had a strange sense of déjà vu. Then the bell stopped. For a few moments there was nothing. Nothing -- glorious nothing! It had finally stopped!

_Praise be!_

Then he heard, outside the window, people walking and chatting loudly. Children were running and laughing; he could hear their footfalls on the wooden boardwalk. A horse whinnied in the stable. Ezra listened. _That's strange_, he thought, trying to remember why it was strange. He strained his ears to decipher what was going on. Finally, he came to the conclusion that the sounds of people seemed to be headed toward the church.

"Is it Sunday?" he said aloud and found himself startled by his voice. It sounded hoarse, as if from lack of use, but there was something else that was odd about it.

He tried to cough and stopped… first because he hurt an awful damn lot, and secondly because of the suddenly commotion in the room.

He heard a chair scrape loudly on the floor and the sound of someone jumping to their feet. Ezra looked up to see Chris peering expectantly at him. The gunslinger looked incredibly worried, and then he smiled broadly.

"God, it's good to see you awake," the dark-clad man said. His voice sounded so odd to Ezra and he couldn't quite understand why. It sounded fuzzy and a little tinny, but there was something else. He would have to have a better grasp on things.

Chris squatted down beside him so that they were at the same eye level. "How ya feelin? Ya want some water?" the gunslinger spoke very slowly. Ezra wondered if there was something wrong with the gunslinger. "Water?" Chris asked again, sounding out each syllable. He fussed around at the table and then pulled up a card that had the word DO YOU WANT SOME WATER? printed on it. How very odd.

"That would be agreeable," Ezra said softly, his voice still rough. Larabee disappeared and he could hear him pour a little liquid into a glass. He came back to the bed and set it with a 'thunk' on the bed stand.

"I'm going to have to get you sitting up," Chris voiced. Ezra didn't think that was a good idea, but he didn't seem to have much choice in the matter since the gunslinger was already grabbing him by the shoulders and moving him upward. Why did he feel so damned weak? The throb in his side became a searing pain. He had to suck in his breath to keep from crying out. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to separate up from down from sideways. By the time he managed that, Chris was talking to him, but he couldn't catch what was being said. The gunslinger tapped him lightly on the chest.

Ezra opened his eyes and then Chris asked, "You okay?" Again, he spoke the words very slowly, looking him in the eye the whole time. Ezra puzzled over the strangeness of the situation. Again, Chris fumbled with a set of cards that sat on the bed stand and held up one that read HOW ARE YOU? This was quite bizarre.

"I seem to have survived the transfer," Ezra replied.

"Here's the water. Can't have too much just yet," Chris said and handed him the partially-filled glass and Ezra tried valiantly to hold onto it, but he had no strength at all. He could barely grasp the glass. When Chris tried to help, Ezra glared at him, and tried to push him away, but it didn't do any good. When he finished the small amount, Larabee placed the empty glass back on the table.

Once Ezra was settled again, Chris turned away and headed back to his chair. "Too damned stubborn for his own good," he grumbled.

"It's my stubbornness that makes me endearing," Ezra replied.

Chris came to a dead stop and Ezra wondered what had happened. Larabee turned sharply and blurted out, "You can hear me?"

"You were speaking out loud," Ezra said darkly. "They next time you have something disparaging to say about my character, perhaps you should keep it to yourself." He was surprised that Chris smiled at this remark.

"Ezra, you never stop amazing me," Chris declared. "I'd go get Nathan, but he's attending Josiah's services right now. Half the town's down there praying for ya; bribin' the Lord so that you'll wake up. It's been over two days." Chris paused. "Looks like the good Lord was listenin' and threw in a extra and let you hear again."

Ezra frowned at this. He started to speak, but then stopped. His memories were starting to make more sense. It was all coming back to him now. "The McHale brothers?" Ezra asked.

"Taken care of," Chris said, "Both batches of them. We got four of 'em in the jail now -- two are a little less pretty than when they started. God, Ezra, that gun of yours nearly cut that man's arm off. The other ain't gonna walk on two feet again."

Ezra nodded. He was starting to feel sleepy. "I remember…they were intent on mischief."

Chris continued, "Vin and I might be dead if it weren't for you. I'm obliged, and I owe you an apology."

Ezra cocked his head at the gunslinger, a surprisingly difficult maneuver. "An apology, Mr. Larabee? For your abrupt dismissal of my assistance in going to Red Rock."

Chris winced. "I ain't apologizing for keeping you from that. It wasn't the place for you to be at that time. I could 'ave gone about it differently though. I admit that."

"Ah," Ezra smiled weakly. "I suppose that is an apology of sorts."

A deep sigh escaped the gunman. "I was talkin' about something else. I never should've taken your sidearms from you in the saloon. Never should've taken them at all. I should've listened to you and understood what you were saying."

Chris muttered, "Hell, you were the one who was deaf, but I was the one who wasn't listenin'." He grinned then. "Besides, I should've figured you'd have somethin' else far more interesting hidden away in any case."

"I'm not one to be taken unaware."

Chris sighed. "The worst of it is that I've screwed up the trust we had built up. I was wrong. I acted like an ass."

Ezra was touched that Chris would apologize, for something that was hardly his fault. He knew it must not have been easy for Chris to stoop so low. "Well, we can't all have my charming ways, Mr. Larabee," Ezra, trying to produce his best dimpled smile, but he was getting more tired by the minute. "And perhaps your reasons were well founded. I was, somewhat, unhinged."

Chris noticed that Ezra was drifting off. "I need you to know that I trust you. I just wanted to make sure you understood me."

"You're as clear as a bell, Mr. Larabee," Ezra said with a yawn. He could feel himself fading fast. Chris moved toward him and helped him get settled into a more comfortable position. "Chris?" Ezra said, half asleep already.

"Yeah, Ezra."

"Thanks for taking care of my hat." Ezra's voice was drifting away.

Chris startled, and then remembered that Ezra had looked at him after the shootout, if only for a moment. He had been holding the hat. "You always amaze me, Ezra."

"That's my aim," Ezra mumbled and fell asleep.

**THE END** - by NotTasha


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